Still Uptown on Your Downhill Swing
by tonygirl
Summary: A job at Crane, Poole & Schmidt was only temporary. Aside from being entertained by the antics of the partners and clients alike, Andy discovers that age - like beauty - really is in the eye of the beholder. OC, so if you don't like 'em, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, all! I do not own anything to do with "Boston Legal." We can thank Mr. Kelley for that! And, this does not center around Alan and Denny, although I did write 3 or 4 balcony scenes - entertaining, to be sure! This probably takes place somewhere in season 4, if you want an idea of such things. Oh, and this isn't half as long as my other fics, so don't let that freak you out or anything.

* * *

"Aw, c'mon, Carl! Can't a guy hire his own assistant anymore?" Denny Crane's face settled into the usual pout that got him his way . . . some of the time.

But, not this time. "Denny, there is _no way_ I'm letting you conduct these interviews. This is not a dating agency. It's a law firm!"

Denny's mouth opened in shock. "I'm surprised at you, Sack. I was interviewing assistants long before you even thought about going to law school!"

Carl glared at him momentarily. "And that's why you've never had one stick around very long, either."

"That's not true!"

Carl crossed his arms over his chest, a resume in his hand. "Oh, really, Denny? If memory serves me, as long as I've been here, no one has lasted over ten days."

Denny waved his hand in disagreement. "They weren't up for the job. Assisting Denny Crane is a highly-sought after – but stressful – job opportunity for up-and-coming young ladies." Denny said it almost as if he were reading out of a brochure. He slapped his hands together, his eyes glittering in anticipation. "So, any blondes on the list? Redheads? Know any bra sizes?"

Carl rolled his eyes, asking the powers that be for patience. "To avoid any future sexual harassment lawsuits, there will be no blondes or redheads of any _size_."

Denny looked confused. "Well, I like brunettes, too . . ."

"No brunettes."

"Then . . . what? What's left?"

Carl managed to control his temper. "You will not – no, you _cannot! -_ have a female assistant. I don't even know why Shirley's agreeing to all this nonsense, anyway! You've gotten along just fine without one this far."

Denny started up on the mantra he'd been stuck on for the last few weeks. "I _deserve_ one. Everyone else has one. You have one. Shirley has one. Even Jerry and Katie have someone who helps them. My name is first on the door and . . ."

"Denny's finally getting an assistant?" Alan Shore sidled up to the conversation as the offices of Crane, Poole and Schmidt ebbed and flowed about them in the hallway.

"Alan, he's hiring a man! A _man_! What does a man know about filing and answering phones? That's _woman's_ work!"

"Certainly not as pleasing on the eye, that's for sure. So, when do _I_ get an assistant?"

"When you stop taking pages from Denny's book and harassing all of them into lawsuits," Carl answered, fed up with where the conversation was going, walked out.

"Make sure he's not gay!" Denny called out as Carl retreated down the hall.

Carl could still hear Denny blustering as he shut the door to his office, taking a moment to lean against it, pinching the bridge of his nose against the constant headache he seemed to be plagued with lately.

If it wasn't the lack of paying cases at Crane, Poole and Schmidt – where he had the daunting and highly-unsatisfying position of senior partner in control of the firm - it was the constant zaniness surrounding the man whose name was first on the door.

Carl wondering if Denny Crane really had mad cow disease or dementia or whatever it was he claimed to have. Or if it was just a ploy to . . . to get whatever it was Denny wanted. Sex, pity, attention . . .

Probably sex.

Carl tossed the small stack of resumes on his desk.

Who was he kidding? There was only one resume. Out of all of those who applied, he pulled a trick that could get him in trouble with all sorts of government agencies if it was discovered.

He only pulled out the men.

If Denny wanted an assistant – something he didn't believe the firm could actually afford at this point – he'd get an assistant. A _male_ assistant.

It was rare Carl had the last word, but he would this time.

Actually, Shirley usually had the last word. And that could be one of the reasons why their relationship seemed to be faltering. Sure, he'd moved to Boston because of her, but it had become more difficult to compete with the ever-present stream of men she had in her life. They enjoyed the same things and each others' company. But, wasn't there more to life than that? What about passion and exuberance and – sure, even lust? He might be just north of 60, but he didn't always _feel_ it.

He shrugged off old worries and picked up his glasses – a sure sign he was north of 60 - studying the one applicant he had contacted for an interview. Through email.

He'd never get used to all this technology. It was easier to get a feel for the man who'd applied if he could talk to him, but that was they way things were done. Get with the times, Shirley would tell him.

But, he'd be here in a moment, so he better memorize the facts.

_Andy Sutherland_

_Lieutenant with the Boston Police Department for the past seven years_

_Patrol officer with the Roanoke Police Department before that._

Carl couldn't help but wonder how it might help the firm to have an insider on their side – someone who could run interference with the PD, get information they may need.

Andy might be Denny's new assistant, but multi-tasking was the name of the game at this firm. Cut down on costs.

And, goodness knows, costs needed to be cut around here.

But, why would someone who was with the police force want to work at a law firm? Change of scenery? Maybe he was fired for some sort of misconduct, perhaps?

In general, there was no love lost between the two braches of law.

Carl looked at the bottom of the resume. Yep, there were the mandatory references. One for the Boston PD. He circled it, making a note to call.

* * *

Andy tried not to fidget during the elevator ride to the seventh floor. The mahogany trim. The plush carpet. The gleaming metal of the doors.

It took some getting used to after the slip-shod craziness of the Boston Police Department headquarters. Or any police headquarters, for that matter.

The elevator stopped, barely noticeable, and chimed.

Andy was not prepared for what was on the other side, one well-heeled foot stopping mid-stride just out of the door.

A man wearing a snorkel, a wetsuit and fins tromped right in front of the elevators. At his side was an older man, thankfully in a suit, but their argument consisted of lots of hand-waving and shouting as they disappeared around the corner.

Andy looked around the bustling office. No one seemed to notice. Or care. Everyone was going on about their business. Just another day at the office, apparently.

Taking a moment to make sure this was the correct floor – maybe this was a psych ward or something. Nope, right floor - she smoothed her tailored skirt, took a deep breath and headed for the reception area.

The receptionist greeted her with a perfunctory smile and a 'how may I help you.'

"Andy Sutherland. I have a 2 o'clock appointment with Mr. Carl Sack."

After pointing her in the right direction, Andy continued down another hall. Thankfully, there were no other characters like the ones she saw when she first arrived.

Sure, she'd heard about this position through a friend of a friend, and after the PD canned her, she had to have something to pay the bills until her feelers in other police departments across the country panned out. But, just as any government agency, the red tape was a bitch.

So, here she was. Clearly out of her element.

But, she was always good at covering up those sorts of insecurities.

Who knows? Maybe she'd like working for the 'two-faced, dirty lying ratfinks' as her old police buddies called all attorneys. The clean version.

Arriving at the correct door, she was greeted by another receptionist.

"Andy Sutherland." She announced herself in a clear voice that masked any butterflies she may have had.

She was good at that.

The secretary looked momentarily puzzled, but masked her frown by pressing a button.

"Mr. Sack, Andy Sutherland is here to see you."

"Send him in" a deep voice answered.

The secretary looked like she wanted to add something, but instead just answered with a 'yes, sir.'

Andy was accustomed to her name being misconstrued as male. She just smiled sweetly at the befuddled woman. Straightening her jacket and tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear, she walked into the office.

_So, they thought they were hiring a man. But, for a secretarial position?_

Wouldn't be the first time her birth name confused the hell out of people.


	2. Chapter 2

Carl was halfway to his feet when a woman he did not recognize walked regally into his office.

That was strange. Usually only Denny or Alan barged in unannounced.

He removed his glasses to get a better look at her as she stood just inside the door, her blue eyes studying him just as much as he was studying her.

He cleared his throat as he straightened his jacket. "Oh. I'm sorry. I was expecting . . . can I help you?"

"I think I _am_ who you are expecting. Andy Sutherland."

Carl's well-laid plans of protecting the firm from another sexual harassment suit crashed around him. "You mean . . . _you're_ Andy Sutherland? With the Boston Police Department?"

She looked at him, amusement dancing across her face. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Well, with your name, a man for starters." Carl blurted out.

Andy cocked her head. "Isn't that sort of . . . well . . . illegal?"

Carl mentally shook himself. Wrong thing to say. "I'm sorry. Please come in." Remembering his manners, he met her at the door, shutting it behind her and motioning to a chair across from his desk.

Funny, with heels, she was almost his height. It was rare to meet a woman who could rival his 6'4".

Denny was going to have a field day.

After settling behind his desk, he folded his hands on top of it. "Ms. Sutherland. It seems there's been a misunderstanding. It seems that . . . well . . . you would not be the right fit for this position."

She cocked her head, still amused. Not much fazed this one.

"How so?"

Carl cleared his throat nervously, trying to choose his words carefully. That would just take the cake. Getting the firm into a lawsuit _himself_ when he was worried about Denny doing it for them. "As . . . as sexist as this may sound, this particular position needs a . . . a . . ."

"Man?" Andy coaxed.

He glared at her momentarily.

"Sorry. You looked like you were struggling there." She didn't look all that apologetic.

Carl cleared his throat. "Yes. A man. The partner you will be working for is known for his . . . ah . . . penchant for . . ."

Andy crossed her legs, carefully making sure her skirt remained over her knee. "I'm quite aware of Denny Crane's 'penchant' for the ladies. His reputation precedes him." Quite legendary, actually, throughout the PD.

"And you _still_ want to work for him?" Carl couldn't help but ask.

Andy shrugged nonchalantly. "You've seen my resume. I've heard every sexist, feminist, crude and downright disgusting comment you can think of. I imagine whatever Mr. Crane can dish out, I can take."

He couldn't argue with her there. Police rolls all over the country were decidedly male.

And she most certainly was as feminine as they came.

He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat loudly at that random thought.

* * *

Andy could tell his mind was going a mile a minute. Sure, she was not what he expected. But, she waited on her cue to convince him she was _exactly_ what he needed.

Or Denny Crane needed, to be exact.

At least until a detective position opened up at another police department.

"Denny's going to love this," he finally said, shaking his head in remorse.

"So, I have the job?" she asked in what she hoped was not a too-eager a voice.

He looked determined to grab the upper hand in this situation, and she had to smile within watching him grapple with this situation.

Wouldn't be the first time she'd caused a ruckus.

And wouldn't be the first time she wondered what her mother and father were thinking when they named her Andy.

Mr. Sack picked up her resume, mainly for something to do with his hands. She hadn't spent years studying people, judging the best way to talk complete strangers out of desperate situations for nothing.

"You seem a little . . . overqualified for this job."

"You mean underqualified, don't you?"

He gave her an 'I-know-what-I'm-talking-about' glare. "Why go from police department to law firm?"

Andy cleared her throat, ready for this question. "As you know, most of police work involves paperwork. Filing reports. Wading through red tape to get a job completed. I'm very familiar with the justice system, and I don't see where working at this firm is any different. Just a different . . . part of it."

Still a little off his guard – she could tell by the way he kept fiddling with his glasses on his desk – it was easy to tell that he was wavering.

"Plus, as you mentioned, this is a male-dominated world, just like the force. I can handle what Mr. Denny Crane can dish out. And I don't believe you'll run across too many people – male or female – who could."

* * *

Carl couldn't argue with her there. She was sensible, down-to-earth and straightforward, but tactful. Traits he always appreciated.

But, why did she have to be such a looker?

"You have doubts." Her voice broke through his thoughts, scattered them to the four corners of his mind.

"And you are very perceptive, Ms. Sutherland."

Still as relaxed as she was when she sauntered into his office, she shrugged. "You have one of the most expressive faces I've seen in a long time. Especially for an attorney. They tend to be a little closed off from everyone."

Carl stared at her for a moment, slightly taken aback. He had always prided himself for closing everyone out. How this . . . complete stranger honed right in on that was nothing short of extraordinary. "What, may I ask, did you do for the Boston PD?"

"I am . . . _was_ what they call the negotiator. They sent me in during hostage situations, suicide attempts, and that sort of thing to talk people out of what they want – or don't want – to do."

Keeping close tabs on the local news, something nagged at his mind. Something to do with a lawsuit against the city. "Why did you leave?"

"I was fired," she said simply, the first shadow of doubt crossing her delicate features.

* * *

Andy didn't have to tell him any of this. By law, her firing from a previous employer was none of his business. But, she'd always found honesty really was the best policy. She'd tell Mr. Sack what he wanted to know. If he didn't hire her because of it, fine.

But, maybe he would represent her in her civil case.

She sure caught his attention, and he leaned back in his chair, motioning for her to continue.

She took a deep breath and did just that. "A few months ago, we were called out to a . . . an upper class neighborhood. It's rare to receive hostage calls from there, but with the economy as it is . . ." she let her words trail off, shrugging for a moment before continuing in as monotone voice as she could manage. "A 40-year old male had taken his wife and two children hostage, screaming something about putting them all out of their misery. He'd already shot the family dog. By the time I arrived, he'd worked himself into such a lather, I didn't even think he'd let me inside."

Carl had to admit, he was enthralled with her story. Sure, based on first appearances, she looked like a pampered female who hadn't worked a day in her life with her artfully applied make-up and her expensive clothes.

But, she was a cop. And, she'd faced down people and situations that would break most men.

But, she retold the story as if it were another day at the office.

"I stayed in there with them for ten hours. He'd lost his job, and his house was getting ready to be foreclosed. His cars had already been repossessed. Most of the time, these people need someone to talk to, to feel that someone is on their side in a world full of uncaring, indifferent humans." She paused for a moment. "I thought I had him convinced. But, with a calm expression on his face, he looked at me. Held the gun to his wife's head and pulled the trigger. I jumped for the weapon, and almost had it. But, he shoved me aside, put the gun to his own head and ended it." She bit the inside of her lip.

It was the first time he saw her falter. And it was only a minute show of emotion. Nothing drastic. She just squared her shoulders and finished her story.

Admirable. Curiously admirable.

"The children saw it all. Their family . . . sued the police department – and me – for wrongful death. And lost. But, I was still fired. Seems I should not have had physical contact with the man. Sure, I broke the rule, but I was trying . . . to get the gun." Her blue eyes met his. "You probably saw it on the news."

He nodded. "I didn't have all the facts, but it seemed the jury made the right call."

She smiled. "Spoken like a true attorney."

He couldn't help but return it with a smile of his own.

"My captain will verify the story." She motioned towards her resume on his desk and the circled name. "He fought for my job, but the powers that be were swayed by the money the man's family was throwing around. People die like that in this town everyday and no one notices until the cash is flashed. And they couldn't use that cash to save him in the first place." She sounded bitter.

He couldn't blame her.

Character judgment was always a strong suit for him, and he couldn't help but like Andy Sutherland.

"When can you start?"

She brightened considerably. "Tomorrow, if that's alright with you. What about salary?"

He named a figure that was considerably higher than she was expected. It certainly paid better to work for lawyers – the dreaded enemy to the police force – than it did for the PD.

All she did was nod once in acceptance.

He stood, and she followed suit, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Welcome to the firm, Ms. Sutherland. May God have mercy on you for dealing with Denny Crane."

He said it in such a deadpan tone that she couldn't help but laugh as she put her hand in his.

Of course, her handshake was just as firm as any man's.

"Mr. Sack . . .I do have one more request, if I can take up a moment of your time."

_Uh, oh . . ._ "Certainly."

Andy returned to her seat and reached for a briefcase she'd carried in with her, removing a file. "I would like you . . . or someone at this firm . . . to represent me in civil court. The family is also filing a civil claim against me and the police department for damages."

"Doesn't the Boston PD have their own attorneys for this?" Carl took the file from her, curious.

She folded her hands in her lap. "They do. But, I am no longer employed by the Boston PD and feel I will have better representation if I pay for it myself. And I will. I should add, no matter how this case turns out, it will in no way shadow the quality of my work at your firm."

Carl didn't doubt that.

And, the entire file was in impeccable order. Transcripts from the criminal trial, as well as newspaper clippings and signed statements from all the officers involved were tucked neatly inside.

For some reason, he didn't expect anything less from her.

"We'll be glad to represent you, Ms. Sutherland . . ."

"Please. It's Andy. And, thank you. For the position and for taking my case."

She stood, and he was once again struck by her height. She could almost look him in the eye.

"After you work with Denny for a day, come talk to me, and we'll see if you're still grateful."

"Carl, you old rogue, you! I heard Andy's a _woman_!"

* * *

Andy turned just in time to see the two men who were arguing when she got off the elevator. The younger one still in the swimming get-up.

The older one clapped his hands together with childish glee. "Oh, Carl, you shouldn't have! Really! She's . . .gorgeous! She's beautiful! She's . . ."

"Tall," the younger one finished, watching her with his own predatory gleam in his eye despite his get-up.

It was true. She had a few inches on them both.

She could hear the frustration in Carl's voice as he spoke just behind her. "Ms. Sutherland – Andy - I'd like you to meet Alan Shore, partner."

"Charmed," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it, forgetting he was wearing a wet suit and fins on the seventh story of an office building.

Andy almost couldn't control the laughter that bubbled forth. "Likewise."

Carl shook his head and continued. "And this is . . ."

Denny had her other hand. "Denny Crane. At your service. Or, I guess you'll be at mine." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he mimicked his friend, kissing her other hand. "Ooooo. She smells like gardenias." He held her hand out for Alan. "Smell."

Andy had to let them know where she stood up front. It was always easier to draw the boundaries from the beginning. In a pleasant voice, she said, "Smell all you want, boys. It's as close as either of you will ever get."

Carl Sack almost choked behind her, covering up his mirth with a cough.

As quickly as she could, she retrieved her hand from Alan. "What's the deal with the swimming get up? There's not going to be another Noah's Ark flood is there?"

"Coast Guard Reserve training. Alan's scared of the water," Denny answered.

Alan looked taken aback. "I am not! It just . . . intimidates me."

"You're scared. Admit it."

Andy could see the return of the argument she witnessed earlier in the lobby. She interrupted. "If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have things to do."

Turning towards Carl, she was surprised to see a ghost of a smile still on his face.

At least someone here respected her.

"Thank you, again, Mr. Sack."

"My pleasure," Carl added.

"Especially for not slobbering all over my hand," Andy couldn't help but add with a wink.

Denny followed her out the door like a puppy. "I like my coffee black, and my women tall."

"It appears most women are taller than you, Mr. Crane," Andy commented.

"I think she insulted you, Denny," Alan awkwardly followed, flippers leading the way.

Denny put his hand to his heart. "A woman after my own heart. Harsh. Unforgiving. Are you that way in bed?"

"Guess you'll never find out." Andy answered.

Their voices faded away.

Carl had to smile.

Andy Sutherland might be alright after all.

* * *

Don't know if there is such a rule about no physical contact in dealing with hostage situations. Made that up! But, I could see some sort of dumb rule like that, so I went with it.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why couldn't I take your case? I'm an excellent lawyer, you know. Got the law firm to prove it."

Andy sat the stack of files down on her desk with an exasperated thump. "Mr. Crane . . ."

He shook his finger at her. "You know better."

"Fine. Denny. I gave Mr. Sack the case. He said he'd dole it out accordingly."

"But, he kept it for himself! He keeps all the good ones . . ." Denny muttered.

That surprised Andy, too. She would have thought Carl had better things to do than concern himself with her civil trial.

"Nervous? Need some coaching? Perhaps a little one-on-one could lighten the mood up considerably." Denny never gave up.

Andy caught is double innuendo and studiously ignored it. She picked up the files and headed towards the file room, managing to open the bottom drawer with her foot as Denny followed along behind. "I've never liked courtrooms."

"Then why in the hell did you want to work for a law office?"

"I'd never see the inside of a courtroom if it wasn't for my own lawsuit." She used her same foot to slam to drawer closed.

"I read over it. It's a cinch. Sack can't mess it up. You can't lose. Even a jury of kumquats would vote in your favor."

She had to smile at that. "Been reading up on your brain foods, Denny?"

"Well, I have to do my own research, since you're always out doing something for Alan or Jerry or Lorraine," he pouted.

She patted him on the arm. "You know our agreement, Denny." She had grown fond of the man over the last couple of weeks, peccadilloes and all.

He sighed as if it were a large pain in his behind. "I know, I know." He recited it as if it were a chore. "For two hours a day, you sit at your desk to be my eye candy. Anything other than that is fair game for everyone."

"Right. Now, if you'll excuse me, Katie needs some help researching existing case law on living wills for pets."

Denny made a face and disappeared. He didn't want to get sucked into _that_ one.

Andy hadn't lied to Denny. She really _was_ nervous. Carl and Katie had been preparing for her trial, which was starting bright and early tomorrow morning.

Andy really wasn't scared of losing, although the $4.3 million requested by the prosecuting attorneys should have intimidated her. It was the thought of having to relive those hours stuck in that immaculate house with those terrified people, the man who should have been their protector and provider threatening their very lives.

It was a sign of the times. Everyone wanted someone to blame. The family wanted to blame the Boston PD, more specifically her, because she didn't stop it. If memory served, they also had lawsuits out against the mortgage company, the man's former employer and the power company for turning off the electricity after 3 months of unpaid bills.

She and Alan had debated the pros and cons of the 'blame game,' and although they rarely saw eye-to-eye, Andy enjoyed sparring with him. When on his soap box, he forgot to make the sort of comments that had run many assistant out of the office and into the courtroom for damages. She could see what made him a stellar attorney.

He hated to lose.

And there were several like that at Crane, Poole and Schmidt.

Lorraine just flat out intimidated her. She'd always envied women who could exude sexuality by just breathing. While comfortable with her body and her looks, Andy had become too complacent in a man's world to even know where to begin to have the sort of confidence Lorraine had. While polite, Lorraine didn't push being friendly, and neither did Andy. She was more comfortable with men, anyway.

Came from having six brothers.

Speaking of intimidation, Shirley Schmidt won the first prize for that. She oozed power out of every pore, and the men in the firm seemed to lap it up. Their paths didn't cross often, but Ms. Schmidt was always cordial.

Andy did _not_ want to cross her.

She was surprised to learn that Shirley and none other than Carl Sack were dating. Of course, she _shouldn't_ have been surprised. From what little she knew, they complimented each other. Plus, they were both high rollers in a firm that had quickly made itself sort of a legend in Boston. It was inevitable.

Andy tried not to think about it much. This was a world she did not belong and would not be in for very long. And, at least she recognized the fact.

Katie Lloyd, the new up and coming attorney in the firm, was a different story. Bright and cheery, Andy was surprised to find that she held up quite well in the cutthroat world she found herself now a part of. Second chair in her trial, such a friendly face behind the table was comforting.

Of course, who could forget Jerry Espenson. It was all he could do to look her in the eye at first, but now, he could actually greet her without making all sorts of strange noises. While it took some getting used to, his ticks, purrs and whirrs faded in comparison to what she knew about the man she found herself working for.

Denny Crane was most certainly entertaining, if anything.

It was surprising to find out the Clarence Bell, a young attorney at the firm, moonlighted in a dress and sang show tunes. And Whitney Rome just marched right into the office one day, demanding a job – and getting it.

She would have guessed Carl would never put up with such shenanigans.

Shows even the best judge of character can't get it right all the time.

* * *

"Tell me, Ms. Sutherland, what exactly was your job description?" Katie's voice was light, conversational.

Andy knew all the questions her attorneys would ask. They'd coached her ahead of time. It was the prosecuting attorneys that had her palms sweaty.

"Officially, I was a lieutenant, but I was the one called out to talk people out of suicide and hostage situations."

"Quite a daunting task, it seems."

Andy was glad no one could see her hands clenched in her lap. She'd been keeping stress out of her voice for years, so it was easy to hide her anxiety there. But, body language was a different story. "Yes, it was. Often times, just one word would set people off or save them. It was up to me to figure out what exactly what that was."

Katie kept up the conversational tone. "How often are you successful?"

Andy had put a lot of thought into this question. "I'd say about 65 percent of the time."

"What would you say was the national average for people with your same job description?"

"Objection. Speculation." The prosecuting attorneys were earning their money.

The judge didn't agree. "Overruled."

"I would say a little less than that."

Katie held out a series of articles. "There's several case studies on it, and the numbers are quite accurate."

The judge just nodded once without offering to read it.

"What do you think makes you more successful?" Katie continued.

"Objection."

The judge glared at the prosecutors. "Overruled."

Andy cleared her throat. "I can stay calm in a stressful situation. My father is a crab fisherman, as are all my brothers, and if you've ever spent anytime on a crab boat in the Arctic, you know how to stay calm when the going gets tough. The key is to keep my head about me long enough to talk them out of whatever it is they are trying to do. No matter how long it takes."

Katie nodded. They thought bringing up her background would help. The jury was drawn to people who seemed to be just like themselves.

"Tell us what happened the day of March 22nd."

Andy retold her story, similar to the way she told Carl Sack in his office the day he hired her.

* * *

Carl knew she would. She faltered in the same spot. It was barely noticeable. A drop of her eyes, a catch in her voice. Right when she told - in her clear, cool voice - about how the man shot his wife, then himself. Right in front of the children.

No matter how collected she was on the outside, he knew it was a horror she lived with daily. And, it wasn't the first murder/suicide she'd witnessed, he'd realized. The 65 percent success rating was proof of that. Although, she never discussed it.

But somewhere along the way, she'd learned to cope quite well.

The trial was going well, too. Although he might have been a little biased, but most of the evidence pointed in Andy's favor. From what he could tell, the jury seemed to think so, although many times they sided with whoever had lost the family member.

Juries were suckers for sob stories.

He and Andy had discussed this collected demeanor of hers. He wondered if she should show more emotion, and she had looked at him like he had a horn growing out of his forehead.

_It is what it is. I can't change it into something that it's not to suit me or any jury. If they don't like what I have to say, fine._

He had thought about arguing, but hadn't. She was so too-the-point, any attempts at crying or other such nonsense would come off as fake and planned.

The only thing that had her rattled was the questions from the prosecuting attorney. She had almost wavered at getting on the stand because of her concerns, but he had told her she had faced too many situations on the spur of the moment to balk at facing a few attorneys.

He could push her buttons, too. She had relented.

"Thank you, Ms. Sutherland." Katie finished briskly and returned to her chair next to him.

The prosecutor was rising from his chair, ready to do battle.

Carl's gaze met Andy's.

Now, for the hard part . . .

* * *

"Ms. Sutherland, is it true on November 15, 1997, you were reprimanded by the Roanoke County Sheriff's Department for mishandling a suicide attempt?"

Andy remembered the case. Could still feel the sleet stinging her cheeks. Jumper from a bridge into the frigid waters below. Left a wife and baby on the way. She'd almost convinced the guy from the rail when he changed his mind. She'd launched herself forward and caught him, held onto his hand, his fingers slipping out of her own as he begged her to save him.

They labeled it as 'mishandled' because she'd physically been unable to rescue him. Working for a public that liked to blame someone for the death of their loved ones worked that way sometimes.

Carl had told her to expect such questioning. They'd delved into her past, uncovered cases she'd handled that she'd long ago buried.

It made for sleepless nights as the ghosts she thought she'd buried haunted her dreams, that was for sure.

"Yes." Keep the answers simple, Carl had said.

The prosecutor looked disappointed that she didn't fight him and moved on.

"Isn't it true that Boston Police Department code," he held up a handbook for the jury to see, flipping through the pages to read verbatim from it, "says 'During a hostage situation, physical contact with the suspect is highly questionable and should be avoided at all times."

Andy crossed and uncrossed her legs, frowning. "Yes, but . . ."

"And isn't it true on the day of March 22nd you tried to wrestle the pistol away from Mr. Sanchez before he turned it on himself?"

_Don't let the bastard see you sweat_. "Yes."

Andy remembered why she was supposed to hate attorneys.

"Did you know that was against the rules?"

"Objection. Badgering the witness." Carl said curtly.

Andy wanted to shoot him a grateful look, but didn't want the prosecutor – or the jury – to know how nervous she was.

"Sustained. She obviously knows that's the rule, Mr. Taylor."

The prosecutor deferred to the judge.

"Isn't it true you have been dismissed from the Boston Police Department for this incident?"

_Incident, my ass. Two people lost their lives, and he calls it an 'incident.'_ "Yes."

"Tell me, Ms. Sutherland, how exactly is it that you talk these people out of what they are going to do?"

Andy took a deep breath, hating this man with all her might. "It's different for every case."

"Enlighten us, Ms. Sutherland. Tell us what you told Mr. Sanchez on March 22."

Her temper began to get the best of her. "You have it all in the transcript on your desk, as do the jury members."

"Answer the question, Ms. Sutherland," the judge commanded.

Andy risked a glance at Carl, and he motioned for her to continue. "I frame myself as a non-threat. As someone who wants to help. As someone who is interested in their problems and what brought them to this place in their lives."

"Oh, so it's an act, then." He looked smug.

Andy glared. "No, it is certainly not an act. I do not want to see any of these people harm themselves or anyone else. And, I got to know Mr. Sanchez. Asked him harmless questions. Got him to relax in my presence. Then, we drifted onto other topics. His lost job. The calls from the collection agencies. He and his wife had been fighting regularly."

"Got him all worked up all over again, then?"

"Objection!" Carl said heatedly.

"Sustained."

Andy looked at the judge. "I want to answer that."

The judge nodded. She saw Carl shift in his chair disapprovingly, but she ignored it as she glared at the prosecutor. "Most of these people I have tried to help over the years have the same problem. Society tells them that if they don't have a happy-go-lucky life every day of every week of every month of every year, then their lives are worthless. And, they will have to face their problems before they can fix them. _I_ wouldn't have even _been_ at the Sanchez house if he wasn't holding a gun to his wife and children's heads. It had to be addressed at some point, you know. Like the proverbial elephant in the room."

The prosecutor opened his mouth to change the subject, but Abby soldiered on. "I did _not_ have anything to do with getting Mr. Sanchez or the man who jumped off the bridge in Roanoke County in November 1997 or any of them into the situation they found themselves in. All I offer is the first step. A way out of it. It's all I can do. And, it's _more_ than most people are willing to do. Sometimes I succeed, but sometimes I fail. I'm assuming you don't win all your trials, either, do you?"

The prosecutor's eyes widened momentarily, and he dropped his gaze to his notes, flipping through them absently.

"No further questions, Your Honor." He slunk back to his seat.

"Defense?" the judge asked.

"I think she's said it all," Carl said flippantly.

"Ms. Sutherland, you can step down."

Andy couldn't get out of that chair fast enough, retreated to her perch next to Katie.

The judge settled in his chair. "We'll have closing arguments tomorrow at 9 a.m." He banged the gavel once and rose, robes rustling, as everyone else followed suit.

"You did marvelous!" Katie whispered.

Andy was shaking like a leaf. All the suspense, then her anger, was taking its toll. "I think I need a drink."


	4. Chapter 4

Andy stood in the empty conference room, staring out the rain-streaked window. It was hard to make out the shapes scurrying to and from below, dodging the cold April rain. But, it gave her something to do as the jury deliberated. Katie said it could take an hour or it could take days.

Andy hoped for the hour, but it had already passed that mark.

The door opened behind her, and she turned, face hopeful.

"Any word?"

Carl shook his head. "Not yet."

She made a face and resumed her vigil over the wet Boston streets.

"Want any lunch?"

She didn't look at him, just shook her head in response. A chair scraped against the floor. "You're not eating?"

"I'm not hungry," Carl answered. "Katie went downstairs for a sandwich. She'll be right back."

"I enjoyed your closing argument, Mr. Sack. Made me want to stand up and cheer."

"Hope the jury feels the same."

Finally, she turned away from the rain-streaked window, settling across from him in another vacant chair. "Does taking longer look worse on my part?"

He studied her with dark eyes. "Not necessarily. It could mean many different things, not all of them to your disadvantage."

Andy huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Gee, thanks. You made me feel so much better."

He gave her a small smile. "I wouldn't lose this case for anything. You're the only one who's been able to put up with Denny's antics for this long, and you're not going anywhere as far as I'm concerned."

It was her turn to smile. "I owe him eye candy time for the time I've been gone for the trial."

Carl's eye brows raised. "Eye candy?"

Andy shook her head, glad to have something else to talk about. "We have a deal. I sit at my desk and let him admire me for two hours everyday. In turn, I get to go find something to do with one of the other attorneys for the rest of the day."

Carl was momentarily speechless.

"Don't look at me like that. It was my idea. Plus, he has about enough for me to do to keep me busy for a couple of hours, anyway."

Carl shook his head. "Just when I think I've seen it all, Denny and/or Alan come along and prove me wrong."

"They're harmless. All you have to do is draw a line in the sand and enforce the rules. Like children."

"Apt comparison, I think."

They grew quiet again, Andy's thoughts once again slipping to the jury deciding her financial fate. She probably should've been worried about the amount with the six zeros at the end. But, for some reason, she wasn't. Taking a page out of Scarlett O'Hara's book, she'd worry about that tomrrow. First, she had to get past their decision.

"Can I ask you a question, Andy?"

She wrenched her attention back to the man in front of her. "Sure."

"Why did you choose to work for the police department?" He leaned forward, his arms on the table, hands folded.

Andy was surprised this question had not come up while working on her case. She was also surprised the prosecutor hadn't dug this tidbit of information from her past.

And, for some strange reason, she had no qualms about telling it to Carl Sack.

"I was 18 when I married Chris. He was a crab fisherman. In Alaska in my hometown, you either were a crab fisherman or married to one. I married one. Women aren't always encouraged on the boats, anyway, you know."

She paused, and he motioned for her to continue.

"That year was particularly bad. Some sort of virus was killing all the crab, deforming them, making them useless. Men were out of work, laid off during the one time of year they earned all the money their family needed to live. My family was no different, but we were so large, it was easy to help each other out." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Chris didn't like getting money from my brothers. So, one morning, he went to the bank. To ask for a loan. The same morning another fisherman walked in the lobby with a sawed-off shotgun."

Carl knew how this was going to turn out. Not that he'd done any research on her. She was just another secretary in a law firm full of them.

When she told him – in a calm voice as if she were reciting a movie listing – that her husband had been taken hostage, then shot and killed with two other people in the bank, he saw the same tiny inflections in her demeanor and in her voice that he'd heard while she was discussing the Sanchez case. Slight inflections. Nothing more.

"We'd been married for less than a year, but we'd known each other forever."

He could see her clasping and unclasping her hands as she continued her story. Nervous gestures. He almost told her she did not have to continue, but he stopped himself just in time. Didn't want her to know that he knew her cues just as well as she seemed to know his.

"I couldn't stay there. Too many memories. So, I packed up my little house, sold it, took what little bit of life insurance money I got and left."

She said it like she was deciding to go to the park for a walk. But, he could relate. It's better to keep everyone at arm's length. Safer that way.

Now that she was talking, he was just plain curious. "Why a police officer?"

She smiled. "After growing up with a ruffian bunch of crab fishermen, everything seems tame."

"I imagine."

She chose her words carefully. "Plus, I wanted to help. People like the man who killed Chris. If I could stop them, I just might be able to save someone the . . . the heartache, the pain I suffered."

"You manage it well."

She gave him her sardonic look he'd grown accustomed to. "It's been over 15 years, Mr. Sack. Time may not heal all wounds, but it sure makes them easier to bear."

"Especially after everything you've seen." That he understood. After all, his job required him to see the after-affects, as well. And they were rarely pretty.

* * *

Andy was surprised she'd blurted out the entire story – abbreviated, of course. As intimidating and just plain imposing as Carl Sack could be, he could be just as kind-hearted as well. She'd seen it around the office. His quiet support of his attorneys. The way he handled the numerous sticky situations they all seemed to get in.

And, if he could be nosy, she could, too.

Hell, it gave her something else to think about besides the blasted jury!

"What about you? Why'd you become a lawyer?"

He rolled his eyes and leaned back, his fingertips drumming on the table's shiny surface. "That's too long ago for me to even begin to contemplate."

"You're not _that_ old."

"Easy for you to say."

Andy grinned. If anything, she was glad to get off the subject of her own life. "I guess I could be cliché and say 'you're only as old as you feel'."

Carl adjusted the lapels on his coat. "That makes me even older than my actually age."

"Your hair might give you away, but wit and wisdom never age."

"I guess Alan will live forever then. According to the man himself," he said sarcastically.

Andy laughed aloud. "He's too vain, that man! I bet he's already had more Botox than all the women in the office combined. Some people just can't age gracefully."

"There's nothing graceful about popping joints and arthritis. Trust me on that."

"I've sat on enough cold, hard floors for hours on end to know about that. But, you avoided my question. Do I have to sic the judge on you to answer it?" she teased.

He waved his hand for a moment before propping his elbow on the table, chin in hand. "I haven't forgotten. Just buying time."

"Even you're not rich enough to buy time, Mr. Sack."

He gave her a 'watch-it' look, but she didn't even seem fazed by it.

But, she wasn't fazed by much.

"I wanted to become a lawyer . . ."

"A bazillion years ago."

Another dirty look.

She snickered. "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't help myself. Go ahead."

"I wanted to become a lawyer to change the world. To make it a better place. Right the wrongs and save the day."

"Grandiose plans."

"Pick any law school today. They're full of the exact same ideals."

"So, did you? Change the world? Right the wrongs?" Andy figured she knew the answer.

"Some of them. But, not enough." For a moment, he looked detached, more than likely haunted by the wrongs he could not right.

"It's harder than it looks to be Superman."

"Or Superwoman," he motioned towards her.

Her smile was sad. She certainly understood. "What would you tell those idealistic young men and women at the law schools? If you had the chance?"

He looked in her eyes, startled at what he saw. Sadness. Pain. Loneliness.

Not once had he ever seen her emotions on the surface. Like an open book.

Without thinking, he reached out and put his hand over hers.

"I'd tell them just what you said on the stand. Some cases you win. And some you lose. Real character is not how you deal with the successes, but how you deal with the failures."

Andy was startled at his touch. Carl Sack was generally strictly a hands-off kind of guy. But, his hand was warm, firm. Soothing. And strangely arousing.

Must be a power thing. Natural to be drawn to such a man.

She almost didn't pay attention to what he was saying. It took her a moment to respond.

Her brain stumbled over itself for an appropriate response. "So . . . if I'm found guilty, I better deal with it in an admirable fashion, huh?"

He smiled, the lines alongside his eyes deepening. "From you, I would expect nothing less."

* * *

The moment passed, and he removed his hand from hers just as Katie, breathless, entered the room.

"They've reached a verdict!"

Andy looked like she was going to be sick.

But, Andy stood, smoothing the front of her skirt demurely.

He noted the slight tremor in her hands as she gathered her briefcase.

"Let's get this over with folks. I'm sure Denny has a pile of stuff waiting for me at the office."

"_Our_ Denny?" Katie asked a little incredulously, leading the way.

"The man does do _some_ work." Andy paused as Carl held the door open for them both. "Granted, most of it is ordering out of porn magazines, but it's a livin'."

Katie laughed, the sound echoing across the lobby of the courthouse.

Andy paused just inside the doorway as Carl was waiting for her to exit in front of him. His dark eyes watched her carefully, gauging her reaction. "Thank you, Mr. Sack. Even if this doesn't turn out, I really appreciate all you have done."

His eyes crinkled around the corners as he smiled. "You're very welcome. And please, call me Carl."


	5. Chapter 5

All Andy wanted to do was go home to her apartment. Climb into bed and sleep for a week. Or at least until she had to get up and go to the office in the morning.

But, Denny had other ideas.

The shrill blast of a party whistle started her so badly, she almost fell out of her chair.

"Congratulations!"

Andy put her hand over her chest to calm her beating heart. "You scared the pants off me, Denny!"

Denny and Alan were decked out in party hats and whistles, a cake box in hand. And both of them leaned over and glanced around her desk.

"It's a figure of speech," she said exasperatedly.

"Too bad," Alan lamented. "What a way to celebrate your courtroom victory."

Andy shook her head ruefully, choosing to ignore the comment. "I didn't win it. Katie and Carl did."

"We heard about your little speech," Alan said.

"If I'd have been there, I'd have cheered," Denny added.

"I'm glad you weren't then. That's all I needed was a scene." But, Andy smiled when she said it. "And, did you guys really get a cake?"

Denny handed her the box. "You have to share it with the rest of us."

"Rest of who?"

"Everybody's in the conference room. You have to make your grand appearance," Denny commented.

Andy dropped the lid of the box in surprise before she actually saw the cake. "I have to _what_?"

Alan steered her out the door. "Have you lost your hearing? It's a party!"

"We love an excuse to party! And this is as good as any!" Denny followed gleefully along with the still-as-of-yet unseen cake in hand.

"But . . . but . . . I don't _know_ anybody!" Andy argued. She hated parties held for her. She was always afraid no one would show up.

"Nonsense. You know everyone in this office. And they know you." Alan wasn't going to let her bolt. She did not like crowds, apparently. Even ones gathered in her honor.

"It'll be fun!" Denny said brightly.

* * *

And, it was. As serious a bunch as they could be during office hours, they could be just as friendly afterwards.

Andy never hung out much with any of her coworkers at the police departments. Most of them were male, and she never felt quite like she fit in. Like all the male, macho conversation had to cease because she entered the room. Some of them resented her for it, so she rarely went out for a drink 'with the guys.' Sure, it was easy for her to mask her discomfort with witty words and flippant comments, but it got old after awhile.

But at Crane, Poole and Schmidt, everyone she knew – and a few she didn't – stopped by to speak to her for a moment, congratulating her on the jury's verdict that was in her favor. She made sure to give credit where credit was due.

A drink in hand, it was easy to get swept up in the moment, talking and laughing with these people like they were old friends.

OK. New friends, maybe.

But, the cake was by far the star of the show.

"Why does my cake look like a naked woman?" Andy had to ask when it was revealed with much pomp and circumstance.

"They were out of 'Congratulations'. Plus, a cake's a cake," Denny said flippantly. "I wanted one with handcuffs, but they didn't have any.

"'Happy Birthday Ho'," Andy read, trying not to laugh. "Guess you got it at a good price, too."

"It's the thought that counts," Alan added.

"I rather like it," Jerry said, hands perpetually on his thighs.

"You would," Denny muttered. "Probably the closest you've ever been to a woman's . . ."

"So, Alan, how did your trial go today?" Andy interrupted, nudging the subject in a different direction. Lucky for her, Denny was easy to distract.

Even Whitney was being friendlier, and the two of them were debating the worst ways Denny had solicited them for sex. So far, Whitney had the best story. No pants in the elevator.

Andy almost choked, she laughed so hard at the thought.

The first time she noticed Carl was there was right after someone had shoved a piece of cake in her hand.

"I don't even want to pretend I know what that looks like," Katie said, her own cake plate in hand.

Andy studied it ruefully. "I think it's best not to ask, don't you? After all, Denny was right. A cake is a cake."

Carl caught her eye right before she took the first bite. Standing just inside the door, regaling surveying his 'domain,' he didn't attempt to mingle. Just watch.

When he raised his glass of scotch in her direction, all she could do was smile and nod at him across the crowded room.

* * *

"She's a good kid," Denny inhaled deeply of his cigar, watching the smoke fade towards the sky above.

"Kid? She's only a few years younger than I am. Pray tell, is that all you think of me?" Alan swirled his bourbon around in his glass, enjoying the way the soft light hit the amber liquid, making it appear to have a life of its own.

Denny waved his hand impatiently. "Everyone's a kid to me. Hell, I'm 75! Old enough to be her grandfather."

"Or mine."

"Don't remind me. Women her age make the best partners. Young enough to be adventurous, but old enough to have a little experience under their belt."

"Sounds like you're talking about an exceptionally fine barrel of scotch."

"Booze. Women. Cigars. It's all the same. Quality beats quantity any day of the week." Denny leaned in closer to Alan across the table that separated their chairs on the balcony outside Alan's office. "All this talk of broads has me wantin' to do a little club hoppin."

"'Club hoppin'?" Alan raised an eyebrow quizzically, mimicking Denny's fake accent. "Been listening to rap again, Denny?"

"It's not the rap. It's life. We're sitting out here, putrefying our lungs and our livers, while the world passes us by." He waved a hand out towards the Boston skyline for emphasis.

"I rather like it out here. See enough of life in the courtroom as it is."

"Do we really, Alan? I mean, we run around, thinking we're so high and mighty important when people like Andy actually _save people's lives_. Think about it. She holds the fate of these people in the _palm of her hand_."

"Wouldn't want it. Plus, she's working for you now, so I imagine she's holding other things in the palm of her hand." He smirked at his best friend.

"I wouldn't expect any such thing out of her, Alan." Denny demurely took a sip of his own glass of bourbon.

Alan's laughter echoed off the buildings around them. "Oh, _please_, Denny! There's not a woman within a ten-mile radius of you who you haven't tried to debauch or otherwise deflower!"

"Bah. Andy's different, anyway."

"Aside from her masculine name."

"Oh, she's all female. Trust me."

"I thought you hadn't touched her." Alan looked over at his friend, cigar smoke making a halo around his head.

"I didn't say I'd touched her. But, she's been undressed in my mind plenty of times, let me tell you! But, Andy has this . . . this way about her. She can save people's lives with mere _words_, Alan! It's fascinating."

"Isn't that what we do? Just in a courtroom?"

"Oh, sure, we can make or break anyone, but it's in a controlled setting. No

guns. . ."

"At least when you're not there."

Denny patted his coat pocket where Alan knew at least one of many pistols laid in wait for just the right moment to appear. "No guns. No blood. No bodily fluids. Very civilized. But that slip of a girl goes right into battle with nothing on her side but her ability to connect with these poor saps. I tell you, Alan, I don't know how she _does_ it."

"I wonder _why_ she does it."

"Oh, something to do with her late husband being killed in a bank or something," Denny said dismissively.

"She remarry?"

"Not that I know of. And that was 15 years ago."

"I still say I wouldn't mind having a go at her. I've always had a thing for tall, caustic women." Alan looked thoughtfully towards the street below.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you. She's already taken."

"Taken?" Alan chuckled. "By whom? There's been no boyfriend or any other such person that I've seen around."

Denny sipped his bourbon. "Oh, she's taken alright."

"You haven't answered my question, Denny? _Who_ has taken her?"

"Sack."

"_No_!"

"Yes!"

"But, he and Shirley . . ."

"Hell, they're on the rocks. Even I can tell that! Although Shirley's certainly hard to top."

"I wouldn't know," Alan said grumpily.

"But, I do. Damn fine woman."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Carl, huh? Well, isn't he old enough to be her grandfather, too?"

"In spades."

"How do you know all this, Denny?"

"I've been around a long time, Alan. I've seen things, watched people, and I have managed to pick up a few pointers along the way. I've seen the way he watches her. He's smitten. He may not realize it, but that's how it is."

"I don't believe it."

"Watch him. Next time Andy breezes into a room. He can't take his eyes off her."

"She is rather easy on the eye."

"It's more than that!" Denny was beginning to get frustrated.

"It's not like Carl to start a romance with an underling. Probably against some rule or regulation somewhere or other," Alan said flippantly.

"Well, he doesn't know what he's missing."

Alan shifted in his chair, so he could look at Denny. "So, _are_ we missing something? By sitting here smoking and drinking?"

Denny made a face. "Nah. Who needs that rat race, anyway?"

* * *

Balcony scenes are fun, aren't they?


	6. Chapter 6

It was hard to ignore the argument. Even the well-insulated walls of the law offices did little to keep harsh words at bay.

Since Andy and Whitney were relegated to the law library, which bordered Shirley's office, they essentially had a front-row seat to the bitter end of Shirley and Carl's relationship.

Whitney ate it up, but privacy was one of Andy's most cherished luxuries. She respected others in the same way. So, she feigned disinterest in the heated words going on behind closed doors as she worked.

And made a mental note to stay out of their paths for the rest of the day. Shit always rolls down hill and all that.

By the next day, it was all over the office about the split up. Denny was in seventh heaven plotting a way to win Shirley back, so he was out of Andy's hair. Several different stories were circulating, and Whitney made sure everyone knew what was heard behind the thin walls.

It was none of Andy's business. She disregarded the gossip and even felt a little saddened by it. They seemed so happy, then one disagreement cannonballs into another, then 'wham!' It's back to cold bed and leftovers. But, no one likes a goody-two-shoes, so she kept those comments to herself.

She had a lot of practice keeping her thoughts to herself.

* * *

On Friday, after a rather difficult week, a drink was in order. And, she couldn't wait to get to her small stash across town in her equally-small apartment. The bar across the road from work was just the ticket.

As far as bars go, this one was rather swanky. Dark mahogany interior, soft lighting and a clientele that wouldn't be caught dead in the holes-in-the-wall on the other side of town completed the look.

Andy didn't care as long as they sold liquor.

She managed to find a place at the bar and order her drink, fending off an offer to pay for her Tom Collins as politely as possible before retreating to a quiet table near the back to nurse her headache and her thoughts.

Except for there were no empty tables, in the back or elsewhere. And, as soon as she vacated her seat at the bar, it, too, was filled.

Instead of standing there with a drink in her hand in the middle of the bar, she realized she'd have to share a table with someone. And did not relish the thought of mundane conversation with a stranger.

With thoughts of gulping the drink and heading for the door, she spotted a familiar head of white hair in one of the tables near the back.

Funny, her first instinct was to join him.

However, since Carl was alone and obviously wanted to remain that way, she changed her mind.

But, she still didn't have anywhere to sit.

_Dammit!_

* * *

It was rare that Carl went out for a drink by himself. It was depressing to drink alone.

However, through his own choice, _alone_ was what he found himself.

And, he needed a drink.

Being alone wasn't so bad. He could do _what_ he wanted, _when_ he wanted and _how_ he wanted, where as with Shirley, it was mostly what _she_ wanted.

He sipped his drink.

His little pep talk didn't work.

Upon arriving, he found that alone was not what he wanted to be.

But, it took too much damn effort to strike up a conversation with the hundreds of patrons in this bar.

So, when he saw Denny's secretary standing in the middle of the room obviously searching for a place to sit, he knew he'd found his answer.

* * *

Andy's gaze settled back on Carl.

And, he'd spotted her.

Instead of looking annoyed, he actually looked rather relieved, motioning towards the empty chair across from him.

Hell, stranger things have happened.

As Andy maneuvered through the crowd, which had thickened considerably since she's arrived, she hoped she wasn't intruding. After all, he'd had a rough week, too.

As usual, it was the first thing that tumbled out of her mouth.

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting?" she blurted out, sweating drink in hand.

An amused smile played at the corners of his mouth. "How could I not enjoy the company of the one person who has shown the least amount of interest in my personal affairs?"

"Why contribute to the rumor mill? And spread rumors against my boss? Two of them, actually. That could never turn out well." She sat as she spoke, setting her glass on a waiting coaster.

"I have a feeling you don't go around advertising much about you or others." Carl settled back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink.

Andy noticed although his tie was loosened and his jacket tossed aside, he still looked the part of the high-dollar attorney. "It doesn't win me many friends, but it doesn't earn me many enemies, either. A nice trade-off, if you ask me."

They sat in comfortable silence as Carl studied his new companion. Something he found himself doing lately rather he realized it or not. She was a woman who had worked in a man's world for so long, and she still managed to keep her femininity about her. Her hair was long, but cut stylishly, and her clothes were quite fashionable.

Thanks to Shirley, he recognized designer brands when he saw them. That woman had expensive tastes.

Andy's jewelry was simple. Small diamonds usually graced her ears, and she wore no rings or bracelets. Occasionally, he saw a small cross necklace dangling from her graceful neck, but not tonight.

Her make-up was slight, just enough to accentuate her flattering features – high cheekbones and large, expressive blue eyes.

Eyes a man could get lost in if he let himself.

Clearing his throat at that uncomfortable thought – must be the booze – he broke the silence first. "You know, you were all concerned about interrupting me, but I never asked you if you were interested in me butting into your quiet evening alone." He took a sip of his drink. "Meeting anyone?"

Andy shrugged. "Had a rough week. Just wanted to unwind a bit."

"Denny?" Carl raised an eyebrow, the surge of annoyance at the very thought of Denny Crane familiar to him.

"Actually, he's been rather . . . preoccupied as of lately."

"That's never good."

She spoke carefully, wondering why she was even saying anything. "Honestly, it concerns Shirley. He's trying to win her back."

Just the mere mention of her name made his dark mood deepen. He took a large swallow of his drink to deaden the feeling as Andy watched. "I don't know if Denny would appreciate his assistant tattling on him."

Andy's eyes narrowed slightly at his harsh comment, but her voice was still light. "He has made it no secret as to what he is trying to do. You've just been holed up in your office all week not paying anyone a bit of attention, or you would know, too."

He couldn't argue with her there. Staying in his office kept him from having to face the questioning glances and hidden whispers. As well as hide him from Shirley. The woman could always see right through him. Plus, he was the one who ended it with her, so shouldn't he be the happy one?

Andy cleared her throat, bringing him back to the conversation at hand.

She could see the emotions running across his face – annoyance, shame, even doubt.

Doubtful was one word she would never use to describe Carl Sack.

So, she changed the subject. Back on comfortable ground. "Actually, my mother had surgery today. I've been on pins and needles waiting to hear about it."

He seemed relieved for the change in topics. "I'm sorry to hear that. Was it something serious?"

Andy was surprised he actually sounded concerned. Absently, she traced the edges of her almost-empty glass with her fingertip. "Breast cancer. They were doing a double mastectomy. But, as usual, she came through with flying colors."

"You get it honest, no doubt."

Andy heard the amusement in his tone and raised her eyes to meet his. "It's the genes. You can't come from a long line of hardscrabble fisherman and not have a little chutzpah."

They shared a smile before Andy continued.

"My sisters-in-law are all there to dote all over Mom, but somehow, I feel I should be there, too." She motioned towards her drink. "Hence, the drink and the self-proclaimed pity party I was all ready to jump headlong into."

"When was the last time you went home?"

"Christmas. I always try to make it twice a year, but I think this year's summer visit is out."

"Time off can be arranged you know."

"Don't you dare pity me, Carl Sack! I haven't been here long enough to earn enough time to make the trip, and that's how it is."

A little taken aback by her outburst, he replied, "I didn't mean it as such."

She sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Sorry. Sorry. Just touchy lately. I thought once the trial was over, I'd get back into the normal swing of things. But, apparently not."

"You're out of your element. Working as Denny's assistant is not as mentally stimulating as working for the PD, I'm sure."

Andy had to agree with him there. But, then again, she rather liked Denny. "It's not so bad. Like I told you earlier, you just have to let him know who's the boss up front."

"Hadn't worked for me," Carl grumbled.

"You're a threat to his domain. Two alpha males and all that. Well, I guess three if you count Alan."

"You make it sound so . . . crass."

Andy laughed aloud. "As much as you like to think you're better, Crane, Poole and Schmidt is no different from any precinct police station anywhere in the country! Pedigrees and college doctorates does not change a _thing_! I'm just here to sit back and watch it all unfold."

"Spoken like a woman who's accustomed to the men in her life."

"True."

"So, did your family know? About the lawsuit?"

Anna made a face and drained her drink, motioning for Carl not to reorder when she saw him preparing to flag a waitress. "I didn't see any need to worry them."

"They have to know you're no longer with the Boston PD."

"Weellll . . . they know." She was reluctant to share, and he didn't push. But, she continued anyway. "They _do_ know what happened and why I was fired, but I did not mention the civil suit."

"We could have gotten you your job back, you know."

"I don't doubt it. But, I didn't want it. It's awkward enough being a woman in their world, but one that is hired back against their will would make it downright hostile."

He leaned back in his chair. "It sounds like we haven't entered the 21st century after all."

Andy shrugged. "It is what it is. You don't go into a world that's predominately male and expect easy acceptance. I just did my job and did it well and went home at the end of the day."

Carl sipped his almost-empty drink thoughtfully. "Shirley likes that about you. Quiet confidence."

"I'm not as gung-ho as Shirley. Trust me."

"She admires honesty and integrity, and you have that. In spades."

Once again, they were talking candidly about their lives to each other. And, once again, she chose to push him as hard as he were pushing her.

"You miss her."

"Who?"

"You know who I'm talking about."

For just a moment, his smooth exterior faded away, and he looked older than Andy ever saw him look.

But, only for a moment. It vanished, his composure firmly in place. "It's hard not to. I left Boston for her. We've lived together for almost a year."

"When I heard you fighting, I had to admit, it saddened me."

Carl gave her a hard stare. "_Heard_ us fighting?"

Andy returned his glare. "Whitney and I were in the law library. The walls aren't that thick."

He looked away. "Not my finest hour."

"You don't think you can work it out?"

"What's there to work out? Sure, we enjoy the same things and each other's company . . . but that's where it ends. I'm not . . . ready to give up on . . . on passion."

"Shirley seems anything but dispassionate."

He gave her a dirty look. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, I do." She'd been with several men since Chris died. Some of them were even serious suitors. But, she's grown accustomed to her solitary lifestyle. Marriage just didn't fit the bill. At least not with any of them.

Although, sometimes, loneliness and the 'what coulda beens' threatened on those long, cold nights.

"You're too young to lack passion." Carl's deep voice brought her back to the conversation at hand. He was clearly amused.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Age has nothing to do with it. You just said so yourself."

"True."

"So many men feel threatened by me. I carry – _carried_ – a badge and a gun and fought bad guys. That's supposed to be a man's job. And, the men who did like it only liked it for the novelty of it. So," she shrugged, "here I am. . ."

"Sitting in a bar having a drink with a man old enough to be your grandfather."

"You sell yourself short, Carl. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."

His smile was genuine. "I never doubted it one bit."

* * *

What started as one drink moved to dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant Andy had wanted to try. She managed to coax war stories out of him from his years as an attorney in New York, and she regaled him with tales from her sea-faring family. They laughed like old friends who were comfortable in each other's company.

The early summer evening had a hint of the heat yet to come as they returned to the parking garage and their respective cars.

"What do you miss most about Alaska?" Carl asked, hands in his coat pockets as they walked side-by-side. The breeze held a hint of gardenia, and he realized it was her perfume.

She didn't even have to think about it. "The ocean."

"You have that here," he teased.

Even in the dim lights from the streetlamps, he could see the exasperated look she gave him. "It's different. Back home, it's cold, callous, yet beautiful, all at the same time." Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "There's nothing like being out in a storm, the waves rolling, wondering if you'd survive the next minute, let alone the night. Except for maybe the mornings when you walk out on deck and the water is so still, you can see for miles and miles. It makes you feel so insignificant, but important that you were able to be there at that moment in time to witness such a gorgeous site."

"Sounds amazing."

"It is."

Andy was surprised to realize they were standing next to her Volkswagon. This night had flown by, and surprisingly, she was a little reluctant for it to end.

But, didn't see any way to prolong it, either.

She turned to face him. "You know, I had a much more enjoyable time with you than I would have at home feeling sorry for myself."

"Glad I'm here for your amusement."

She smiled. "Goodnight, Carl. See you Monday. And thanks for dinner."

"Anytime."

He watched her climb inside her car and with one final wave, disappear down the street.

Not only did she have a more enjoyable time this evening than she thought she would, but he did, as well. With someone almost half his age.

He couldn't help but be attracted to her. She was a beautiful, poised woman who laughed at his jokes and seemed to see eye-to-eye with him more than anyone else lately.

But, what surprised him – aside from the physical attraction – was the emotional pull he felt towards her. It was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

_Shirley would find this amusing._

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he walked to his own gleaming Mercedes and drove home.

Alone.


	7. Chapter 7

As the days rolled by, Andy kept finding her thoughts straying to the impromptu evening she had spent with Carl. He was fun, entertaining and a charming dinner companion. And sexy as hell in a suit.

The last thought made her stop right in the middle of her filing and seriously wonder about herself. He was her boss in an office full of them. Not once had he ever given her any indication that their friendship was more than that – just a friendship. He had not treated her any differently since that night. Well . . . maybe he would stop at her desk and chat with her for a few moments at a time. But, that was it.

Amusing as it sounded, their age difference was not an issue for her. It was a societal difference. While not cultural born and bred, she knew enough not to embarrass herself or her friends if at a swanky party. But, honestly, she was more at home with a beer and a fishing rod than champagne and evening wear. Carl Sack was obviously more comfortable with the latter.

And, had she mentioned he was her boss?

Andy didn't do inter-office relationships.

So, she kept her contact with him sparse, although frankly, she missed the kind of conversations they always seemed to have. She could bare her soul, and for some reason, not feel like a total idiot. It was rare for her to open up to anybody, so that revelation in and of itself was shocking.

As she filed and thought, she almost missed the ruckus that had kicked up at the other end of the hall. Figuring it was Denny and Alan in some sort of scheme, she dismissed it. Even the gun shot didn't make her flinch. Denny was notorious for firing a round or two, as the patched-up ceiling clearly indicated.

But, when Katie came careening into the room, slamming the door behind her and leaning on it in fright, Andy was on full-alert.

Before she could even ask what was wrong, Katie's words tumbled out over each other.

"'reholedupintheconferenceroom."

Andy blinked once, trying to process the sentence into something coherent.

Lucky for her, she had practice in dealing with stressful situations. And hiding her true thoughts and feelings.

Because she thought she was going to be sick.

Instead, she went into 'cop mode.' "A man or a woman?"

"Man. 30s. Stocky build. Dressed casually. Pulled the gun from a holster underneath his jacket." Katie knew the value of details.

"What kind of gun?" Andy's voice was calm, collected, her blue eyes steely.

But, on the inside, she was a nervous wreck.

"A handgun. Maybe a 9 mm?" Katie wasn't familiar with weapons.

"Did you recognize the man?"

Katie shook her head so vigorously, a few stray hairs tumbled into her face. "He was saying something about hating all lawyers. Something about a child custody case with his ex-wife."

"One of ours?"

"I don't know. But, he honed in on the first lawyer he saw."

"Carl."

Great. When children were involved, people became way too irrational. "I heard a shot . . ." Andy wanted to complete the sentence by asking if Carl had been shot, but her mouth couldn't form the words.

"It was one to get our attention, I think. Right into the ceiling."

Andy wanted to slump on the nearest file cabinet in relief, but didn't dare. Time was of the essence if there was a wounded victim taken hostage. That was one less thing to worry about.

Katie was still talking. ". . . called the police, and they're on their way."

Andy's eyes widened, and she hurriedly recalled what day it was. Tuesday. If the schedules were still in place that were there when she was with the police department, Calvin Jones would be the one to take care of the hostage situation.

Andy wouldn't trust Calvin to rescue a raccoon.

"They're in the main conference room?"

"No, the one at the other end of the hall . . . wait! You're not going in there are you?"

But, Andy had already brushed past Katie and yanked open the door.

It was all she knew to do.

* * *

"What does he want?" Andy asked Alan as they huddled outside the conference room, unaware of anything that may or may not be happening on the other side of the closed door.

Alan shrugged. "His children back?"

"But, it wasn't one of _our_ cases." She sighed. "Do we even know this guy's name?"

"Al Whittaker. Whitney's trying to dig up who exactly he is and who handled his case now."

"I can't wait for that."

Denny's eyes almost bugged out of his head. "If anyone gets to go in there guns ablazing, it's me!"

It was all Andy could do not to roll her eyes in annoyance. "There will be no guns ablazing. Guns in the hands of out of control people like our friend Al get people killed." _And, I'll be damned if it's Carl._

"You mean . . . you're going in there? All alone? With no gun? Just . . . just words?"

"You got any better ideas?"

Denny actually seemed to think about it. "Well . . . no."

"What about the cops . . ." Alan started.

Andy whirled around. "Keep them _out_ of this! I mean it! Just tell them I'm in there. They know me. They'll let me work."

"Sure. Sure. Whatever you want. But, how are you going to get in there?"

Heart pounding, Andy replied, "Just watch me." But, precautions had to be taken. "OK, folks. Everyone back over here." Using her best police officer voice, she pointed to a spot down the hall that would hopefully be out of range if any stray bullets in case she really couldn't get in the room.

It'd been known to happen.

Her eyes met Alan's. "Tell the police that I have this. Tell them to back off until they hear otherwise."

For once, he didn't comment. Just nodded in agreement.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned and walked resolutely to the door. Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes, she pushed every thought out of her mind. Except one.

Saving Carl.

And even that was dangerous territory.

Mind as clear as she could get it, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the extension for the conference room. Through the thick door, she could hear it ringing steadily.

* * *

Carl had been concentrating so hard on not doing anything to provoke this man that he almost jumped out of the chair when the phone next to him starting ringing.

For a moment, he stared dumbly at it, wondering who in the hell would call now.

The police. That's it. It had to be.

From behind him, the man holding him hostage had stopped pacing the room behind him long enough to stare at the phone with a similar look on his face.

Why he had to wander through the front office at exactly the moment he brandished the weapon was beyond his comprehension. Such stupidity!

Carl didn't dare make a move to answer it without a command from the guy with the gun. Seemed like a good way to stay alive.

Agitated, the man looked like he didn't quite know what to do, either. When it stopped ringing, he resumed pacing, muttering something about damned lawyers and getting his kids back.

Carl doubted the man would get to see his children again after pulling a stunt like this. Unless he saw them from a jail cell.

But, once again, no need to say it aloud. Don't piss off the guy with the gun.

It was surreal. One moment, he's walking through the lobby of the office, and the next, he's staring down the barrel of a Sig Sauer, some guy on the other end ranting and raving about a trial gone wrong.

At first, he'd tried to talk to the guy, but it only made him more agitated, more aggressive. So, he shut up. His smart mouth had gotten him into more trouble in his life than he cared to remember, but this time, he'd keep his trap shut.

Now, he was sitting at the rather ornate table in the little conference room they rarely used, his hands folded on the table as instructed, wondering how in the hell he would get out of this. Alive. Preferably so.

The phone started ringing again, and Carl closed his eyes in annoyance.

Whoever was calling was a menace, that's for damn sure.

"Go on. Answer it." The man said from behind him.

Carl wasn't so sure about that, but he did as he was told.

* * *

If Andy had let them, her knees would have almost buckled at the sound of his voice.

"Carl, are you alright?"

"As alright as I can be, I suppose." His voice was strained, but he tried to be light.

Who could blame him with a gun to his head?

Andy couldn't afford the luxury of relief. "I'd like to talk to Al, please."

"Hold a minute, and I'll see if he's available."

"Carl?"

"Yes?"

"Watch your smart ass mouth. It might get you killed."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, put Al on the phone."

He faltered, his wit abandoning him. "I . . . don't think you should."

"Why not?"

"I . . ."

A shuffling noise. A gruff voice. "Who's this?"

Startled, Andy tried not to let it show. She had to work fast.

"Al, my name is Andy. I'd like to come inside, if you don't mind?"

"Andy? What the hell kind of name is that for a girl?"

Andy rolled her eyes. That's all she needed. "My mother expected a boy."

"Oh. And no, you can't come in."

This was the usually way it went. She could generally sweet talk her way inside, though. It was what happened once she got there that was so precarious.

But, she wouldn't think about that right now. Not with Carl's life on the line.

"Al, I just want to talk. I'm not armed. And, do I sound like I can hurt you? Surely not." Her voice was light, airy, almost as if she were talking to an old friend. Helped to calm the person on the other line.

"Are you a cop?"

When Andy was on the force, this was the question she always dreaded. They didn't want the cops there. Her 'yes' usually got the phone slammed down in her face, and she had to think of another way to win their trust.

But, Andy had to get in this room and get control of the situation before the cops showed up, or Carl's chances of survival lowered immensely if Calvin had any say in it.

Plus, the only one she trusted was herself.

Andy swallowed hard and soldiered on. At least now, her answer wouldn't provoke him. "No. I'm a secretary here at the firm."

"Not an attorney?"

"Nope."

"I don't like attorneys."

"So, I can tell. But, if I walk through this door real slow-like, you won't shoot me, will you?"

Silence on the other line. "What in the world do you want to come in here for anyway, Andy?"

Good. He remembered her name. Helped to relate to him if he was willing to try a little. "You need someone to help you out. And, you and I both know that the secretaries really run the show. So, how 'bout it, Al?"

Silence again. Andy clutched the phone so hard, the buttons dug into her palm.

"What's going on?" Denny hissed from down the hall.

Andy waved her hand for silence.

"The cops are in the building. Thought you might want to know that," Alan whispered.

Andy gave him a thumbs-up in response. "Al?"

"Just no funny business, or the old man gets it."

Her moment of relief was fleeting. Now the real work starts. "I'm opening the door now, Al. I'll have my phone in my hand, and I will disconnect it when you see me."

With a shaky hand, Andy reached for the door knob.

* * *

Carl didn't like this one bit. No siree, Bob, not one bit.

He knew she'd try to talk her way in here. It was the way she was. Hell, she was by far the most qualified for the job.

And, he'd rather her _talk_ their way out of here than a SWAT team _shoot_ their way out. Too many chances to get killed that way.

But, the fact remained that he just plain didn't want her in there. His mind struggled to remember the statistic she gave during her trial. 55%? 65% What was her survival rate? How many times had she been shot?

And just why in the hell did he care?


	8. Chapter 8

Andy slowly opened the door, making sure to step inside almost immediately. She didn't want Al to get an itchy trigger finger if no one appeared.

Carl looked just as worried as she felt, his eyes pleading with hers.

To save him? To get the hell out of here?

She didn't know. She didn't have time to figure it out either.

Her eyes flicked towards Al. He was just as Katie described, the 9mm actually a .45. Larger gun. Bigger shot. Better kill ratio. That's why the FBI used it. With the right ammo, it could shoot through walls.

And it was trained at the back of Carl's head.

But, this harried fellow was by no means FBI.

Just as she promised, she slowly removed her cell from her ear, flicking it shut, calmly shutting the door behind her.

She didn't approach him. Might seem too aggressive at this point.

Al stared at her, almost as if he was waiting for her to make some grandiose statement Maybe tell him he could get his children back immediately.

Andy knew it was best not to make empty promises. Backlash could be terrible once he found out it was a lie. But, she had to relate to this guy before he did something rash.

Or something _else_ rash!

He looked so terrified, at least she knew this wasn't a professional hit.

But, then again, it rarely was.

Al motioned with the gun. "Well, whaddaya want?"

Andy swallowed and got to work. But, she had to avoid Carl's intense gaze, or she'd panic.

"That's a very impressive gun, Al. My brother has one just like it. Oils it all the time and takes it everywhere he goes." Her voice was collected as she could manage.

Al blinked. It was not the reaction from her he expected. He even looked at the gun in his hand strangely. "Got this a couple years ago for Christmas. With a rifle."

"So, you hunt?"

"In Boston?"

Andy chuckled. "Sorry. Sometimes, I forgot that around here, you can't just walk outside and shoot wildlife at will."

Al looked a little skeptical. "You're not from around here, then? The liberals stopped that like 100 years ago."

Andy didn't dare touch that one. Politics was not something she wanted to get into at this point. But, it did give her an opening for one of the best conversation starters she had. "I'm from Alaska."

"Really?" He seemed to think about that for a minute. "Snow and polar bears and all that?"

She smiled. "Well, some of the time. I lived far enough south that we actually had a few 80 degree days in the summer."

"No kiddin'?"

"Yeah, my father would take my brothers and me hunting for elk or moose. Hard SOBs to catch, even with a rifle. I have a Winchester myself."

"I've always thought those were neat. All the engravings on them and stuff."

"My father had one he kept with him on his crab boat, but he lost it in a storm one year."

Al was getting into the conversation. "Crab? Seriously? Like on that reality show?"

Andy smiled, remembering to remain friendly and open. It didn't take much to slide right back into the ol' routine. "Just like that show. I even grew up with some of those guys. But, my dad didn't want any cameras on his boat. Said it wasn't Hollywood, it was real life."

* * *

_The Boston Police Department were fools for letting her go._

Andy chatted with the man for a few moments as she stood just inside the closed doorway. Even Carl found himself relaxing a bit, although he believed he could feel the barrel of that gun burning into the back of his head.

But, he didn't dare move. He just let Andy weave her magic.

* * *

Shirley was accustomed to getting her way.

However, returning from a trial, she was surprised to find a squadron of police cars with lights ablazing parked all around her building.

No one would let her in. Said something about a hostage situation.

Great. Just great.

Shirley glanced around at the crowds who had streamed out. She recognized no one.

Was Denny up to no good again? Carl promised to say something to him . . .

Carl. He'd know what was going on.

Shirley balanced her briefcase and coffee in one hand and dug for her phone with the other. Impatiently, she tapped her foot on the sidewalk as she speed-dialed his cell.

* * *

By now, the police would be evacuating the building, at least most of the floors surrounding them to avoid unnecessary injuries. And lawsuits. They even probably had cleared their floor.

Andy hoped Alan had given them her message.

She also knew she would have to ease into the subject of children carefully if she were to broach the topic.

Gratefully, she pulled a funny little story about one of her nephews from the depths of her brain, and it actually earned a smile from Al. The gun, which had been trained purposely on Carl, had settled back to Al's side as he smiled at the antics of her two-year old nephew.

"My Gina used to do the same thing."

"They're so fun at that age. But, they can be a handful, too, as I'm sure you know." Andy could see she was getting somewhere with him. This might not be too hard after all.

Until Carl's cell phone rang.

Everyone jumped, including Al, his gun going back to attention.

Automatically, Carl reached towards his coat pocket to answer it, anything to stop that infernal ringing.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Al said, voice shaky, trigger finger itchy.

Carl stopped, his eyes briefly meeting Andy's.

Andy thought fast. This guy was wound up tighter than a drum. "Al, it'll stop ringing in a second. Just put the gun down."

"I'm _not_ putting the gun down!"

Andy put her hands up in a placating manner. "That's fine, that's fine." _No, it's not._

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief when it stopped ringing.

However, it immediately started back up again.

Al trained the gun on her for a moment before motioning it back to Carl. "You. Andy. Get it out of his pocket."

Andy found it was best to do as told, especially if it wasn't anything life threatening. She reached across the table and into his inside coat pocket.

"Sorry," she heard him whisper.

But, she didn't have the luxury of answering him.

Or the phone, apparently.

"Don't answer that! Lay it down!"

Andy started to lay it on the table.

"Over there!" He motioned towards the far wall.

Obediently, Andy set it along the wall.

"Now, back up."

Andy complied.

And almost jumped out of her skin when he fired, the phone scattering into a million tiny pieces at the powerful shot, the bullet burying itself deep into the wall.

Andy was too busy staring at the fried cell phone to notice that Al wasn't through shooting just yet. Another shot erupted through the silence, and Andy whirled around.

_He shot him. Oh God, he shot him!_

And, she had broken one of the cardinal rules. She took her eyes off Al. A big no-no.

But, Carl was still sitting exactly where he was before, white as a sheet, the landline not two feet from him sparking its last electronic breath.

Al looked satisfied with himself. "There. Peace and quiet."

* * *

"Shots fired! Two shots fired!" the officer closest to the room cried out into his radio.

They had finally gotten everyone off this floor amongst many protests.

When they found out Andy Sutherland was holed up in there with the crazy idiot with the gun and the lawyer, most of them were relieved.

Especially Calvin. He hated hostage situations. Not his best work. Although he'd never admit it.

But, now she was considered a civilian. Although she knew what she was doing.

Even the ones who were glad she was gone couldn't disagree with that.

After a pow-wow with the captain, they decided to sit tight and wait.

But, those two gunshots changed everything.

* * *

Andy knew she had to work fast. Not only did this man have a happy trigger finger, but those shots would get the PD riled up enough to send someone in.

That could get someone killed.

Plus, she didn't know if her heart could take too much more of this. It was already beating so hard and so fast, she just knew Al and Carl could hear it.

_Stay calm. Stay cool. Don't let him see you sweat._

"Feel better, Al?" she asked, mentally cursing as her voice cracked slightly.

* * *

Carl stared at Andy in disbelief. The idiot with the gun had just deafened him and could have killed him, and she's commenting on his actions as if he tossed a piece of gum on the ground.

He watched her for a moment. Her eyes refused to meet his. But, he could see the pulse racing on her throat.

She was terrified. As terrified as he was, apparently.

That didn't make him feel any better.

She was the expert here, and even she was apparently scared!

Although she's doing a damned good job at hiding it.

* * *

Al did look satisfied. "Actually, I do feel better."

Great. He _liked_ firing the gun.

Andy didn't dare move from where she was without permission. She had to get to this guy or else.

She didn't want to think about the last option.

"Al, do you mind if I sit right here. Next to Carl?"

Al blinked, trying to figure out who Carl was. "You mean, the bloodsucking, lying scum of a lawyer?"

Andy sighed. Time to get this show on the road. "Yes. His name is Carl. You didn't know that when you singled him out in the lobby?"

"I . . . I just figured he was a lawyer. He looked like one. You know. All snobby and full of himself." Al looked at the back of Carl's head with distaste.

"I should really work on that," Carl muttered.

Andy gave him a 'shut up or die' look, and he shut up.

He figured the 'or die' part was highly plausible.

Andy moved slowly towards the chair. "He's a good man, Al. Sure, he can be full of himself at times, but can't we all?"

Despite the fact her close proximity was calming, Carl gave her a dirty look that she disregarded as she settled in the chair next to him, turned slightly so Al was in her line of vision.

She wouldn't take her eyes off him again.

"What do you do for a living, Al?" Andy asked, putting out more feelers.

Al seemed startled by the abrupt change of subject. "I'm . . . a contractor."

She figured that. Although young, he had the look of a man that spent a lot of time outside in the elements. "Single family homes or office buildings?"

His arm with the gun wavered once again as he thought. "Uh . . . just whatever needs to be done."

"So, I've guess you've worked for all kinds of folks. Laid-back ones and annoying ones and everyone in between, right?"

Al shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Andy kept her tone light, but her mind was racing. "I bet you've had this one client who was determined to have something built their way rather it was structurally sound or in their budget or whatever, right?"

Al's gun went back to his side as he thought some more. "Oh yeah. On more than one occasion."

"You disagreed, but you had to do your job."

"That's what they were paying me to do, so I did it."

Andy hoped she was taking the right course. She leaned towards Al. "That's what attorneys do, too, Al."

At the mention of 'attorney,' his gun snapped back up, pointed at Carl. He narrowed his eyes at Andy. "What do you mean?"

Andy had taken this route, now she had to go with it. "An attorney is paid to do a job. They may or may not agree with what their client has done, but they have to do it to the best of their abilities. I guess your wife's attorney-"

"Ex-wife," Al corrected.

"I bet her attorney had a job to do just like you do, and he did what he could do with the money he was given. Your attorney did, as well. It's how law works, Al. And, there're appeals processes you can take, too."

Andy was surprised to see tears in Al's eyes. "Those kids are my life."

"I'm sure they are. Do you have a picture?" Andy was hoping to get him to lay down the gun.

No luck. With his free hand, he rummaged in his back pocket for his wallet, tossing it on the table. "Pictures are in the front."

Carefully, Andy opened the worn wallet. Two toothless children – a boy and a girl – grinned up at her. Andy smiled. "They're beautiful." She set the wallet aside, making sure to leave the photo in his line of vision. A little reminder of what to live for couldn't hurt. Her eyes met his. "I'm sure they'd want to have you around in their lives, too."

"Well, their mother thought otherwise," Al spat in disgust.

Andy didn't really want to go there. A conversation about his ex-wife would only lead to anger. And that could lead to him accidentally pulling the trigger. And killing Carl.

Andy raised her chin in defiance to her thoughts. "Al, look at me."

Al did as he was told, his own eyes still watery.

"Al, this is not the answer."

"Who are you to judge me?" he practically yelled.

"Don't piss him off," Carl hissed through his teeth towards Andy.

"Shut up! Both of you, just shut up!" Al demanded.

Andy didn't have the luxury. She would break down. Later. Much later. It always happened after a case like this, and she preferred to keep it private. Instead, she kept her voice undemanding as she could. "Al, what would your children think if they saw you like this? Wouldn't it scare them?" She put her hand on Carl's arm. "Because you know something? This man has children, too. Grown children, but children nonetheless. What would it be like if the tables were turned and you were the one with the gun to your head?" She paused a moment to let her words sink in.

* * *

Carl shut his eyes.

How did she know he had children?

Granted, he only had a cordial relationship with them at best, but Andy was right. They were still his children. His own flesh and blood that he rarely spoke to, let alone spent time with.

Regrets.

More than one flashed before his eyes. Unbidden, tears sprang to his eyes.

And Andy's soft touch on his arm didn't help matters any.

* * *

Andy was so zoned in to Al, she didn't notice Carl's own struggles. "Al, I know you don't want to hear it, but this is not the way. Please. End it right here before anyone else gets hurt. Go through the appeals process. Judges rarely take children away from a parent totally unless there was some sort of abuse, and I just don't see you as one to abuse your children."

Tears were flowing freely down Al's rugged face, and he swiped angrily at them. "It was their mother. She lied on the stand."

"Perjury." Andy stood, taking a chance, hoping she was reading the situation correctly. "A good lawyer will rip her to shreds in the appeal. Give it a chance, Al. It's not a perfect system, but it's the only one we have. You want to see your children again, don't you?"

Al hesitated, then nodded, the gun shaking in his hand.

Gratefully, his finger was not on the trigger, or he could accidentally make it go off.

Andy held out her hand. "Then, hand me the gun."

Al used his shoulder to wipe his eyes. "Wh-what'll happen to me? Will I go to jail?"

Andy hated this question. She couldn't lie to him. "You'll be handcuffed and taken to the station for processing. But, it's up to the law firm if they want to prosecute you." Andy didn't dare say it was up to Carl. Then, Al might use the gun to get Carl to agree not to press charges.

Never a good idea.

"But, it's still better than doing what you came in here to do."

"I came in here to get my kids back." His voice was a little stronger.

"You will. The right way. Do you think your wife would give you the kids willingly if you shot this man?"

"That bitch wouldn't give them to me if I gave her the moon," he said vehemently.

"Do the right thing. Be a good example for those babies. Because in the end, the good guy will win." Her hand was still outstretched.

Al looked forlorn, nothing like the strapping contractor he was before life beat him down. "Will you help me?" he blurted out. "With the cops and the lawyers and stuff?"

"I will do everything I can, Al. I promise," Andy's voice was solemn. And she meant every word as she took a step closer, her hand outstretched, hoping like hell she was doing the right thing.

It was an old war she fought with herself every time she was faced with a situation like this. Sometimes she was right. And sometimes, she was not.

* * *

Carl didn't dare move or even breathe. His heart was pounding in his head so loud, he couldn't hear what was going on.

But, no one was talking. Silence.

His eyes strayed to the destroyed phone next to him.

If this didn't work, that could be the back of his head.

He thought he was going to be sick.

When the gun, warm and sweaty from Al's palm, was placed in her hand, she felt herself relax for the first time since she'd walked into the room. She glanced at her watch – almost 45 minutes ago.

It didn't seem that long. It always amazed Andy how time got away from her while she was in these situations.

She removed the clip from the gun and put the gun in her skirt behind her back. Out of Al's reach.

Not having a place for the clip, she handed it to Carl. "Put this in your pocket."

Startled, Carl glanced at her hand clip and all, then up to her face and over to Al. Wordlessly, he took it from her and did as he was told, a little embarrassed at his hand shaking like a leaf when Andy looked so collected.

Al looked a little lost, almost as if he were stumbling through a dream. Andy unclipped her cell phone and dialed a number from memory.

* * *

When Captain Malone's phone rang, he cursed. Probably his wife wanting to know when he would be home. Or whining about something one of the kids had done. He flung the rain off his phone before he answered it.

But no. It was Sutherland. Good ol' trustworthy Andy Sutherland.

Malone was grinning ear to ear when he answered.

"You talked the bastard down, didn't you?"

* * *

Andy couldn't help but smile. "You know I did."

"Hot damn, you're the best! If those idiots calling the shots knew that, they'd have never let you go."

Andy chose not to comment, not with Al hanging on her every word. "I wanted you to know, we're coming out. Al understands he will be taken to the police station and may be booked, depending on what the firm wants to do."

"Some crazy woman named Schmidt keeps bugging the hell out of me. Expect charges to be filed."

Andy risked a glance at Carl. Of course, Shirley would be upset.

Andy turned away. "Tell Rick and the guys to go easy on him, OK? Or I'll sue them for police brutality." She had to hold the phone away from her ear at Malone's howl of laughter.

"Hostage OK?" he asked when he caught his breath.

"Shaken up but fine."

"We heard shots."

"Just a little miscommunication."

Malone snickered again. He always liked her sense of humor. "I'll radio Rick and tell him to call off the dogs. We almost sent in SWAT after you guys."

"You know me better than that, Malone."

"Haven't lost your touch, have you, Sutherland?"

Andy just shut her phone softly in response.


	9. Chapter 9

It was pandemonium. After Al was cuffed and stuffed and sent to the station for processing, Andy had to promise she would help him out.

Then, she had to make statement after statement on what happened in minute detail. It was tedious, drawn-out work that she always hated when she was on the force. Back when she was on the other end of the desk. Hey, the gunman was in jail, the hostage was fine. What more did they want?

Plus, she was having a hard time focusing, anyway.

Carl.

Andy had lost sight of him after they all walked out of the room. He was whisked in one direction while she was sent in another with Al. Currently, she was ensconced in Denny's office, trying to focus on reciting her story and not on the rainy day outside.

_Funny, it was sunny when this all started._

Almost like her mood. She could feel the panic and helplessness, normal emotions to such a situation that she had repressed, coming to the surface.

_Uh-oh. I better get home and get there fast._

It surprised her that most of her past co-workers actually thought so highly of her. Compliments all around. They never complimented her when she was actually _working_ with them, so it was a little shocking. But, then again, back when she was with the PD, she was just doing her job. Now, she actually was volunteering her expertise.

The only naysayer was the last report she had to make. To Calvin.

He was nothing but polite until right at the very end. Scribbling studiously in his notepad, he had to throw out a catty remark. "Seems to me you're forgetting who exactly you work for, huh?"

Andy was so busy focusing on the rain softly falling against the window to calm her frazzled nerves, she almost didn't recognize his insult for what it was.

But, she didn't have to comment.

"Seems to me she did your job for you. And did it better than you ever could." Alan breezed into the room, Denny right on his heels.

"Did you wrestle him for the gun? Did anyone have a camera handy?" Denny eagerly wanted details.

Startled at the odd pair who had waltzed inside, Calvin opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't even try it, buddy. Now, scram. You got your report. You got in your piddling little insult. No _get out_." Alan meant business.

"What he said. Oh, my last name is Crane." Denny pointed to the name of the firm. "Get it?"

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Calvin rose. "If we need any more details . . ."

"You know where to find her." Alan wasn't to be deterred.

Calvin scrammed, his tail between his legs.

Although grateful that they had showed up and kept her from tearing Calvin's eyes out with her fingernails, her head was beginning to pound with pent-up emotions.

"Pictures?" Denny said hopefully.

Andy rolled her eyes. "No pictures. No wrestling."

"I'd have loved to have been there," Denny said wistfully.

"No. You would _not_ have wanted to be there." Andy said it with more force than she usually used as she stared out the window onto the soggy terrace.

Alan looked at her strangely, but Denny didn't even seem to notice.

"We came to tell you we're shutting up shop for the day," Denny went right on chirping. "Although, I – for one – have never felt more alive. Carl was taken hostage! My God, what excitement!"

"I could have lived without it," Andy muttered. Her gaze strayed to the clock on Denny's desk. Almost 6.

She just thought it was dark from the rain.

My, how time flies when you're having fun.

Denny was still talking as he gathered his briefcase and coat. " . . . wish he had taken me hostage. Shirley was beside herself. You should have seen her, Andy. In fine form, that woman! . . .

Alan leaned down until he was eye level with her as Denny prattled on. "You OK?" His eyes searched hers.

Andy managed a wan smile. "I'm fine."

"You're a horrible liar. Now, go home."

"Yes, sir," she answered sarcastically.

"That's my girl."

* * *

Andy watched the two men leave, wishing she had enough energy to gather her own things and go out into the wet streets for home.

It always happened like this. No matter how short or long a time she spent with a hostage, it drained her. Soaked all the energy out of her soul, yet made her want to weep with all the pent-up emotions she had to work so hard to hide from the perp.

And, this was the first time she'd had to work a case to save someone she knew. A totally new sensation.

Of course, Shirley would be angry. It was her firm that was under siege. And her lover. Former lover. Whatever Carl was to her.

As her thoughts flitted about, she briefly wondered where he was. If this would be the push to get them back together. They were meant for each other, as cliché as it sounded.

But, somehow, Andy could not muster the energy to feel satisfied with that conclusion.

Her gaze once again fell out the window onto the veranda. Alan and Denny's chairs were soaked, and she wondered if they would return later this evening for their nightly ritual of liquor and cigars.

She knew they would. It was a constant in an ever-changing world.

The rain fell lightly in the small puddles on the concrete, and before Andy realized it, she was outside.

The drops were cool as they fell against her flushed cheeks. She wanted the rain so desperately to wash away the helplessness deep in her soul. The surge of pure terror at the thought of him at the wrong end of that gun. The desperation in trying to talk the man out of his weapon, a man who had his own demons to deal with.

Andy tried to tell herself that these were all the same emotions she went through each and every time. Nothing more than the natural release she had to keep bottled up to survive.

Dealing with a hostage situation inevitably made her think of Chris. They would have been married 16 years. She had mourned him long ago, but now most of what she mourned was the life that could have been. The children and the family and the love taken away by one man's foolish attempt at a better life. Most of the time, she couldn't even picture his face in her mind.

And, that just made the tears fall even more as the rain soaked her clothes and her skin, but couldn't cleanse the troubles she usually managed to keep at bay.

* * *

Carl was at a loss.

The world as he had known it was almost altered by what had transpired today.

Now that everything seemed to be back on its normal axis, his mind couldn't quite grasp the fact.

Everything seemed different. Sharper. More dear than ever.

_He was alive!_

As soon as he made his own statement, he was bombarded with co-workers, slapping him on the back, commenting on how brave he was.

Brave? That was a new one. He sure didn't _feel_ brave.

That was one thing he was certain. He was not the brave one in that little room. _She_ was the one who was as calm as a cucumber, while he was shaking like a leaf.

Never one for public displays of emotion, Shirley even clung to him a little longer than usual before she wiped her eyes and walked away.

He would be lying if he said it didn't warm his heart. She had been worried about him.

Hell, he had been worried about _himself_!

They had even agreed not to press charges. Al should be released later on in the evening.

Carl tried to tell himself that's all he wanted to tell her. To give her the news.

Oh, and probably thank her for saving his life.

Never one for displaying emotions himself, he wondered how one goes about doing that. Flowers? Candy? Dinner? A pat on the back?

None of those seemed sufficient for this woman he had come to admire and think of as a friend.

That's all. A friend. Nothing more.

The offices were dark, the cleaning crew getting started early, since they had all cleared out.

She'd probably gone home.

He wondered if she could just go one with her life after an episode such as the one they had just experienced. Did she just continue with her evening routine without another thought?

Probably. The woman was a rock.

But, then again, he had seen the flashes of . . . of what? Fear? Worry? Concern? Dread?

Standing outside Denny's office, he reached for his cell phone. The least he could do was call her, since he hadn't even laid eyes on her since she led Al out of the conference room to the waiting police.

It wasn't there.

Oh yeah. Blasted to smithereens.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he wandered into Denny's darkened office to use his landline, surprised that he even knew her number by memory.

But, then again, he always had a good memory. For everyone's number. Not just hers.

Right?

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he reached for the receiver. And paused when his gaze settled outside on the balcony.

Slowly, he placed the phone back in its cradle.

There's no telling how long she'd been out there. Her clothes were soaked, as was her hair. She was looking out at the wet city, facing away from him.

It was a private scene. A scene he had no business intruding on.

Plus, he couldn't stand women's tears. Made him feel so helpless.

Helpless seemed to be the name of the game for him today.

But tears? Andy?

If she wanted his help or advice, or anyone else's for that matter, she'd come to him. Obviously, she wanted to be alone.

He kept repeating these things in his mind as, somehow, he found himself walking to the balcony door, opening it and stepping onto the rain-soaked terrace.


	10. Chapter 10

It had stopped raining, but Andy was already sopping wet.

She didn't care.

The tears tried to come in waves, waves that would slam into her with the helplessness of it all. Automatically, she kept replaying the scene in her mind – just like she did on every case – and all the things that could have went wrong jumbled for her attention.

It never failed to surprise her the times such as these when things went right.

But, she didn't want to succumb to them. Not here. After she composed herself, she'd go home and cry like a fool.

Times likes these she felt the most alone. Her solitary lifestyle never bothered her until the nights after a hostage situation. A shoulder to cry on would be nice. A sympathetic word. A hug.

But, she was a tough woman in an even tougher world. She needed to act like it. It wasn't like she hadn't done this before. Squaring her shoulders and wiping her eyes once again, she tried to get ahold of herself.

_He could be dead. Right now. You could have seen it happen. And done nothing to stop it._

She could not ignore the voice in her mind. If she thought screaming aloud would silence it, she would do just that.

Andy tried to tell herself if it were anyone else in this office, she would react the same way. No one wanted to see a co-worker at the wrong end of a gun.

But, God bless her, she didn't know what she would have done if she had failed.

* * *

Carl stood there a moment debating on what to do, water dripping off the building from above, sprinkling his coat with water. He never did anything without calculating the pros and cons. And this was no different.

She had no clue he was back here, only feet away. All he had to do was silently walk back inside. No harm done.

Her shoulders shook. Not from the cold.

She was crying. Sobbing quietly, actually.

That did it. For some reason, the thought of her tears touched him like nothing else. So, she wasn't as cool and collected as her demeanor suggested.

She _was_ just as terrified as he was.

And, he wanted to do something – anything! – to help her.

* * *

Andy heard a noise behind her. Before she could react, hurriedly wiping away tears, trying to think of an excuse to be standing sopping wet on the balcony, someone placed a coat over her shoulders.

She didn't even have to turn around to see who it was. The coat smelt just like him.

Normally, she would have been appalled that she had been caught standing in the rain, crying her eyes out.

But, this was not a normal day.

It would have been easy for her to shove her emotions away. To thank him quietly for the concern. To convince him – and maybe even herself – that she really was OK.

She couldn't turn around and look at him. That would be the worst. She couldn't handle meeting his eyes. Eyes that teased and cajoled and could turn stern on a dime.

While she was fighting this additional war within herself, almost hesitantly, he put both of his hands on her shoulders, standing oh-so-close behind her. Without thinking, she leaned back against him, craving his warmth and strength. It was such a natural reaction that should have startled her if she were in her right mind.

But, she was not.

His breath was warm against her hair, his arms automatically wrapping around her, holding her even closer. She squeezed her eyes shut to control the tears, to no avail.

It had been a long time – a _really_ long time – since anyone had shown her this sort of compassion. And, it was almost as if a damn broke in her soul.

Turning around in his arms, she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. She cried for the ones she couldn't save in the past. She cried for the hopelessness that led so many people to make such an irrational decision to take another's life. And she cried for what _could_ have been and _should_ have been but _never_ could be as he rocked her softly, quietly back and forth, the unfeeling Boston streets below.

* * *

There was nothing he could think to say. This woman who he had seen face down a gunman without batting a pretty little eyelash was weeping bitterly in his arms. Every word seemed paltry, tame, so for once, he kept his mouth shut, only wanting to take her pain, her tears and make them his own.

That's when he realized it for the first time. Not only was he scared for himself in that conference room, he was scared for her.

She'd always seemed so confident, so sure of herself, and honestly, he expected nothing else from anyone who surrounded him.

But, as she sobbed quietly, her fists curling and uncurling against his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead, trying to soothe her, but not knowing how.

Even confidence had to take a holiday.

* * *

Andy didn't know how long they stayed that way. He held her long after her sobs had faded, and she clung to him almost as if he were the only tangible thing in this world that held her here. His slow, steady heartbeat was a testament to her abilities, and she couldn't help but feel some satisfaction.

He was alive.

Finally, she had to break the silence, to explain. "This . . . this always happens. After each hostage . . . situation." Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

He chuckled, and it rumbled in his chest against her cheek. "And here I thought I was special."

_You are._

Andy's cleared her throat against that thought. This time, her voice was stronger, although she still clung to him. "I've never had to . . . had this happen. To someone I know. It is . . . I don't recommend it."

"Personally, I don't either. Especially from my point of view."

Now, it was Andy's turn to chuckle, albeit half-heartedly. "I never thought to ask you how you're doing."

"I'll probably renew my faith."

"I thought you're Jewish."

"I am. But, if anything will get your closer to God, it's having a Sig Sauer pointed at your head." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And, I have no idea how to thank you. For what you did in there." For a moment, he held her just that much tighter.

"Normally, I would say it's my job. I guess old habits die hard." Slowly, she was gathering her wits and her dignity about her. As much as she wanted to stay right here in his arms, she knew it was not a good idea. Reluctantly, she pulled away. "You could always give me a raise, you know. Hazard pay and all that." She joked to hide her discomfort.

* * *

Carl knew what she was doing. How he could read her so well at some times, he didn't know. She was reverting to the Andy he was accustomed to seeing on a day-to-day basis.

And, he didn't want to let her go. She felt good in his arms. It had been a long time since he'd held a woman like that, and it pricked his heart in a way he'd almost forgotten.

Although her eyes were red-rimmed and nose red from crying, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. Her beauty was timeless, made more so by the fact that she didn't even acknowledge it.

Without thinking he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

* * *

His eyes were guarded, and Andy's breath caught in her throat at his touch.

His voice was deep when he spoke. "You're an amazing woman, you know." His fingers stopped at her neck, brushed along her pulse.

She just knew he could feel it jumping just underneath her skin.

Andy had been on the receiving end of suggestive looks from men of all shapes and sizes. But, the desire she saw on his face only scared her for the sheer fact that she knew it mirrored her own.

Warning bells went off in her head like a five-alarm fire was in progress.

"I . . . I really need to go." But, what she needed and what she wanted were two totally different things.

His hand dropped to his side, but he offered no apologies. "I have no idea how to thank you. Seriously."

"I'll tell you what I tell the others who've come to me over the years. You can thank me by living your life to the fullest. You've been given another chance at life. Live it. Breathe it. Never take it for granted."

He gave her a small smile. "Spoken like a woman who's faced her demons and made peace with them."

"I wouldn't wish my demons on anyone."

"Even Denny?"

She cocked her head. "Maybe Denny. He'd find my demons quite amusing."

Carl chuckled, his eyes once again searching hers. "I guess I'm not straying from my boundaries when I say you are more than welcome to take . . ."

She pointed at him, glad they had retreated to safer ground. "If you tell me I can have a day off to recuperate, I'll dig up one of Denny's guns in his office and shoot you myself!"

He grinned. "I don't doubt it."

Reluctantly, Andy slid his coat from her shoulders and offered it to him. As much as she would have liked to take it home and sleep in it tonight . . .

He took it from her and tossed it over his shoulder wordlessly.

Andy didn't know what else to say. Certainly not what was floating around in her head at this instant. "Good night, Carl. Hope you have a better day tomorrow."

"I hope I do, too."

He watched her walk back into the building, back ramrod straight, head up, just as he was accustomed to seeing.

Now, if he could just return to the feelings of indifference he was accustomed to, then maybe his life could return to some semblance of normal.

He thought of his reaction at seeing her walk into the room, the gun briefly pointed in her direction. He thought of the way she felt in his arms, the way he wanted to soothe her tears away. And the way her pulse danced in her throat, her eyes wary, yet wanting, just the feel of her skin causing a reaction he hadn't had to such an interaction in a really, really long time.

No. Normal was not within his reach.


	11. Chapter 11

Thankfully, the remainder of the week was blessedly uneventful. All Andy had to do was file, research and dodge Denny's advances. In other words, just like any normal day should be.

Unfortunately, she wasn't _quite_ up to feeling normal.

It was not unusual for her emotions to linger after a hostage situation.

But, this one had hit her with both barrels. Her dreams were haunted by crazy men with guns, and she was more than a little antsy, jumping at any little noise or sound out of the ordinary.

_Must be out of practice_, she chided herself.

Deep inside, she knew the answer. There was no need to admit it. Admitting it would get her nowhere. So, she worked and went home and doubled her exercise routine, hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep at night.

The nightmares were disturbing enough, sure. But, it was her thoughts upon waking that had her the most perturbed.

She wanted Carl there with her. Her boss. Her stand-offish, smart-mouthed boss.

But, he wasn't like that on Denny's balcony. He comforted her when no one else could even come close.

That was a pitfall of her previous job. Men – and even some women – she had rescued were drawn to her afterwards. Psychologists would say it was all based on the need to feel safe and loved or some crap like that.

And why she was trying so hard to get back into that field, she didn't know.

Whatever this was between them was brewing long before Al and his gun walked into the office. While not as obvious as Denny or even Alan, she'd noted somewhere in her mind that way Carl would watch her, almost as if he himself wasn't quite sure what to make of their situation.

Although she hadn't seen much of Carl the rest of the week, everyday there was a delivery of something or other to the office. Flowers – the largest bouquet of tulips she'd ever seen - were first. Then candy from one of the ritziest candy-makers in Boston. None of them had any indication of who they were from. She'd almost told the delivery men that they were mistaken, but her name was clearly on the card. And, no signature.

It didn't matter. She knew who they were from.

Andy was glad he was busy with a trial. She didn't quite know what to say. For once in her life, she was at a loss for words.

Although Denny sure didn't have that problem.

On more than one occasion, usually as he helped himself to the box of candy on her desk, he had to comment on who the gifts were from.

And, she told him she wasn't sure.

And, she wasn't one hundred percent sure. So, she wasn't lying.

Of course, Denny wasn't the only one who wanted to know. Katie, Jerry, Whitney – the all had to ask.

And, she showed them the card with her name on the front and nothing else.

Of course, they had a field day with secret admirers and just who it could be.

Andy let them contemplate it on their own.

She didn't think they'd figure it out, anyway. It was too . . . farfetched. Unlike him. Out of the ordinary.

But not too farfetched, unlikely and out of the ordinary for Shirley to figure out.

On Friday morning, Andy was already elbow deep in law books researching precedent for a case of Lorraine's when she felt her neck prickle. Instincts born from the need to survive on the dangerous streets of Boston made her look up.

It was Shirley. Studying her from just inside Denny's office, standing half in the hallway. It wasn't that she was sending out death rays. But, she certainly didn't look happy.

Andy almost slammed her finger shut in one of the books, she was so surprised.

The last thing she wanted was to get on this woman's bad side, and making moves on her man seemed to be the way to do it.

Although he wasn't her man anymore. And, she wasn't making any moves on him, either, Andy told herself.

"Now, I know you're not researching anything for Denny." Shirley gave her a small smile, and Andy relaxed just a bit. _No hair pulling just yet. Don't get carried away_.

"Lorraine."

"Ah, yes. Something to do with dog fighting, is it?"

"Uh . . . pigs. Feral pigs."

Shirley shook her head, almost as if to say nothing surprised her anymore. "So, how've you been since Tuesday's little fiasco?"

Andy knew her face betrayed no emotion, but a little ripple of fear trickled through her heart just at the mere thought. She shrugged nonchalantly. "Unfortunately, you get used to it."

Shirley studied Andy shrewdly, and Andy made herself relax even more.

The older woman motioned towards the flowers and the candy. "Seems you have an admirer."

"Be nice if I knew who it was."

"So you have no idea?"

Andy swallowed. "Uh . . . not for certain. No."

Shirley looked like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind. Awkward silence filled the air between them.

Hesitantly, Shirley reached out and touched one of the tulip petals. "I guess I should thank you, too. For what you did."

"That's not necessary. I just did what needed to be done."

"He could have died in there, you know."

Somehow, Andy knew she wasn't talking about Al. And, she didn't trust herself to answer. So, she just at her desk, law books haphazardly scattered about, and kept silent, finding sudden interest in her hands clasped in her lap.

Shirley brought her unwavering gaze back to Andy's. "I can honestly say he never once bought me flowers."

Andy blinked. A million responses fired through her mind, but none of them seemed appropriate. Either too wussy or too bold or just plain stupid.

But, she had to say something instead of sitting here with her mouth open, looking like a guppy.

"I. . . I don't know if . . . if they're from . . . him," she finally said, albeit a little lamely.

Shirley shook her head. "You don't have to offer any excuses, Andy. Rather he knows it or not, he's had a thing for you since you walked into his office. And, I could quote fraternization rules all day long, but somehow, I don't think it would stop him." Her wry smile waited on a reply.

This time, Andy was saved from having to comment by Denny bustling through the door. "Shirley! What do I have the pleasure of having your delectable body standing in my office?"

Shirley rolled her eyes. "I was just speaking to Andy, Denny, not throwing my body in your direction." She said it good-naturedly.

Denny looked at both woman. "Did I miss a catfight?"

Shirley shook her head in exasperation. "Do you ever give it up?"

"If there's a catfight in the offing, no _way_!" He followed her out the door and down the hall.

Andy put her forehead on her desk, cursing whatever forces got her in this situation to begin with.

* * *

"I tell you, it's Sack! No one would be so . . . so boring with flowers and candy and all that nonsense!" Denny pounded his fist on Alan's desk in his exuberance.

Alan raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I don't know, Denny . . ."

"You _do_ know! You just won't admit it!" Denny pointed at his friend for emphasis. "And, to top it all off, I think she and Shirley were having a little tête-à-tête about it just a little bit ago."

"Claws sheathed or unsheathed?"

Denny almost appeared to be pouting. "I listened long enough to figure out Andy wouldn't piss her off for all the chocolate in Boston!"

"But . . . Shirley and Carl . . ."

"I know, I know. Over. Vamoose. See ya later. But, would you want to cross that woman?"

"Daily, if I had a choice." Alan leaned back in his chair. "So, what else did you hear while you were spying?"

"Fact-gathering. Andy's not sure if it's him. And I don't think 'fraternizing' is exactly what they've been doing."

"Fraternizing, huh? Is that what they call it nowadays?"

Denny threw up his hands in disbelief. "I don't _believe_ it! I just don't believe it! I would shower her with diamonds and buy her the most expensive doo-dads until her little heart's content, and she choose Carl!"

"She's too young for you." Alan pointed out.

"She's too young for _him_. Probably kill him in the sack. Sack dead in the sack!" Denny thought for a moment, shaking his head at his own play on words. "Anyway, I'll keep you posted."

"I'll be waiting on every word," Alan replied caustically, returning to the work spread across his desk.

* * *

Carl wasn't quite sure when it occurred to him what he really needed to do for Andy.

But, only to show his appreciation for what she did for him. Nothing more. Right?

He stewed on it for several days, all the while sending her little gifts. He left his name off them on purpose.

After all, she'd know who they were from. And that was all that mattered.

It was probably a good thing that he was busy with a trial all week. It kept his mind off what he was going to ask her and gave him time to plan it out to the best of his abilities.

And, it kept his mind off the real reason he might want to go through with this plan.

Sure, it also kept him away from Andy, too, an effect he didn't much care for. However, the less time he spent with her in the office, the better. Less gossip that way.

On Friday afternoon when he finally found her, she and Lorraine were deep in discussion in Lorraine's office.

Although he could interrupt – after all he was a senior partner at the firm – he wanted to have this conversation in private.

Standing outside Lorraine's office, he couldn't help but watch her. Of course, Lorraine was a sex kitten in her own right, but the air about her screamed, "Hands off, buster!"

Although she tried, Andy couldn't quite pull the ice queen façade off. She was too . . . too human. Too in-touch with everyone around her. Now that he knew her just that much more, he found that her eyes really did give her away. They showed her fear, her frustrations.

And even a little more than that, if their discussion on Denny's balcony begged to differ.

And, when they ended their conversation, and Andy's eyes met his, he saw the wariness there.

Not what he was expecting.

But, then again, it had been so long since he'd had to play this game, who's to say he knew what he was doing?

* * *

Andy's knew she faltered just a bit as she caught Carl's stare from just outside Lorraine's office.

Dammit, how could affect her like that?

_Control, girl! You've got to get control over yourself!_

Good thing she had plenty of practice with that.

"Hi, Carl. Waiting on Lorraine?" she asked as she breezed out the door.

_That's right. Upbeat, but disinterested. You can do this_.

"Actually, I wanted to speak with you."

He was walking so closely, she could feel the heat from his body, smell his cologne. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting." It was getting harder and harder to be neutral, that's for sure.

A job offer from a police department anywhere needed to land on her desk. And soon!

"At least someone was doing some real work around here. Couldn't see where interrupting would do any good." He opened the door to her office, relieved to see Denny was quite absent.

"You haven't heard about this case then, I gather." Andy knew how he hated the strange cases that seemed to darken their door lately.

"Honestly, I don't want to know."

"Good. Because, I don't want to tell you." She dumped her armload of books on her desk, catching sight of the flowers displayed across the room. She needed the space on her desk for research.

Andy cleared her throat and adjusted her sweater. "You know, you really shouldn't have gone through all the trouble."

He managed to actually look innocent as he stood just inside her door. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that! You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

He returned her smile, and she cursed what it did to her insides. _School girl. Acting like a silly school girl!_

"Of course I do. And, that is actually what I've come to see you about."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms across her chest, knowing it was a self-defense pose, but couldn't help herself nonetheless.

He took a piece of paper from her desk and a pen. "I would really love you to join me tomorrow morning at 10 at this address." He talked as he wrote and handed her the note when he was done.

Curious, she took it. It was an address she recognized, thanks to the Boston PD. "The marina?"

"You're familiar with it, then?"

"Well . . . no. Not exactly. I just . . . recognize the address. What's at the marina?"

He gave her a mischievous smile, looking more like a little boy than a distinguished attorney. "Patience, my dear. Oh, and bring a change of clothes. And a bathing suit."

"The skimpier, the better?" she asked.

"I'm not Denny, but I won't complain either way," Carl shrugged.

Andy stared at the address written in his bold print.

_What would Shirley say?_

_Does it matter what Shirley would say?_

_Hell, do I want to go? Well . . . yeah._

_But, do I need to go?_

"I . . . don't know. Is it . . . well is it a good idea? To . . . to fraternize outside of work?" _Damn Shirley and her little visit earlier!_

Some of his cockiness vanished, and he looked momentarily defeated. "Honestly, you're right. It's probably not a good idea. Just . . . I apologize for putting you on the spot." He reached to take the paper out of her hands. "Forget I asked."

Andy snatched it out of his grasp, putting it behind her back, surprised at her own reaction.

He looked equally as shocked. "You want me to wrestle you for it?" he asked.

"I . . . I didn't say I didn't want to go. I guess it's good we're on the same page, though."

"Which is?"

"That this is not a good idea. Plus, I hate surprises."

"You would."

She looked hopeful. "Just a hint?"

"Well, it's at the marina, so that sort of narrows the possibilities, doesn't it?" He adjusted his coat. "So, 10 tomorrow?"

Andy glanced at the address again. "Right," she said, albeit rather weakly.

"I guess I could say if you chicken out, then you're fired, huh?"

Her eyes snapped back to his, but he was picking at her. She could tell. "And, I guess my lawsuit against the company could rival anything Denny has ever had against him, right?"

He smiled at her before he walked out of her office. "See you tomorrow, Andy Sutherland."


	12. Chapter 12

I couldn't help myself. There's a glaring 'Night Court' reference in here. You know how it goes - it just sort of writes itself sometimes :D

* * *

Andy almost talked herself out of it. Friday evening, as she sipped a glass of wine in her living room. All night as she tossed and turned in bed. And, the next morning, even as she was packing her lone bag, wondering just what in the hell she was getting herself into. And wondering just what in the world _should_ she pack!

No, she _shouldn't_ go. But, she _wanted_ to go. If anything, she wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him even more. He had a way about him that calmed her, soothed her, yet brought out feelings she hadn't felt in a long time towards the opposite sex.

And, he was her boss, for crying out loud!

Sitting in her car in the parking garage of her apartment, engine idling, she still almost chickened out. Her GPS even sounded as if it were cross with her.

"Turn left onto Ross Street. Turn left onto Ross Street."

Taking a deep breath, holding it, then exhaling, Andy put the car into drive and headed out into the bright Saturday morning.

* * *

Because it was one of the first genuinely summer-like days of the year, the marina was bustling. Workers and owners were crawling all over their boats, and many an empty slot testified how many people were actually enjoying the day out on the water.

Andy was standing next to her car in the nearly-full parking garage, taking in the sight, when her cell phone rang.

A text from Carl.

Only a number. _316_.

Although she had been wondering what exactly he was up to, it slowly began to dawn on her what he had up his sleeve.

Quickly, she texted him back. _Didn't know you knew how to text._

A quick reply. _Smart ass._

Smiling to herself and trying to ignore her accelerated heart rate, she gathered her lone bag, glad she thought to pack sunscreen and went in search of lot 316.

It didn't take long, and she took a moment to admire it. A 45-foot Bayport gleamed in the sun, its sails – now furled – reached towards the blue sky above. It was a beautiful boat, and her hands itched to be at the helm. She did not have much experience with sails – not a good idea above the Arctic Circle – but she did appreciate anything that withstood the sea.

The name stenciled on the side made her laugh.

_Pending Litigation_

Funny, he never told her he had a yacht.

But, then again, she didn't really know _that_ much about him to begin with.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd chickened out on me." His voice startled her out of her revelry, and she squinted through the bright sunshine, barely making out his silhouette on deck.

_Oops. Forgot my sunglasses._

"I might be a lot of things, but chicken isn't one of them." An undercurrent of uneasiness tried to blossom in her chest. She wasn't chicken. Right?

The day was too pretty for such thoughts. Just enjoy it.

_But, what about Monday? Hell, what about tomorrow?_

_Or tonight?_

"Well, are you going to come aboard, or do I have to leave without you?" His voice teased her from above.

_Don't be silly._

Andy finally overrode any lingering doubts and tossed her back onboard, scampering up the small ladder to the deck.

It was gleaming. Everything was in its place. No rusty crab traps. No worn ropes or other fishing flotsam.

"Do you actually use this thing?" Andy asked.

Carl approached her, bag in hand. "Not enough to warrant owning one."

"Well, that's very uber-wealthy of you, isn't it?"

He shook his finger at her. "Don't be snide, Andy. It doesn't become you."

She had to grin at him. "Me? Snide? _Never_!" She motioned around. "So, do I get the grand tour?"

"There's plenty of time for that. First, let me get this thing pointed in the right direction."

She put her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. "You know, I could probably help with that."

"And embarrass the hell out of me in the process. Let me just stow this below. Feel free to explore."

"You bet I will." Andy was already studying the mast, dark hair blowing away from her face. Her jeans were worn, as well as the fitted shirt she wore, but she filled them both out beautifully.

Carl had to remember not to stare.

* * *

They were ensconced in the engine room, Boston Harbor behind them as Andy watched him maneuver the massive hull through the heavier harbor traffic. The room was small, so wherever she stood, she was only a few feet away from him.

Didn't help she was always aware of this fact, either.

_Think about something else._

He'd said they'd unfurl the sails once they were in open water. She was looking forward to learning just how it was done.

"Love the name, by the way."

"Thanks. It wasn't my idea."

"Oh?"

"Shirley's. I wanted to name it the _Christine S_., but she wouldn't let me."

"Who was Christine S.? Maybe that was her reasoning."

"Long story. What's the name of your father's boat?"

"_Sea Bandit_. Had it for 15 years." Andy's voice sounded rather proud herself.

"Did you go out with them much?"

"Some. But, if I did go, I was mostly relegated to kitchen duty. Protective brothers and all that."

"Naturally." Carl flipped a switch, and the reverberating of the engine decreased substantially. "So, you want to get into something more comfortable, and we'll attack these sails?"

"Want me in my skimpy bathing suit already, Carl?"

He actually blushed, and Andy laughed. This was just so . . . so natural. Sure, she had her doubts, but in his presence, they all faded to nothing.

"That's not what I meant. I actually . . . find you quite . . . uh . . . alluring in what you have on."

Now, it was Andy's turn to be flustered. "I probably should have dressed a little better for the occasion."

"Nonsense. That's what I like about you. You rarely are bothered with such trivial matters that seem to consume most women."

"Since I've never seen you in anything but expensive suits, I figured you probably spend more time and money on wardrobe than I do," she teased.

"Well, even I have to get out of the suits every now and then."

"I think I like you better like you are now." She'd been surprised to see him in jeans and a button-down shirt, loafers on his feet. What surprised her the most was the fact that he looked so at-home in them. "You look . . . approachable."

"Good. Just the look I was going for."

* * *

It took her a moment to find her bag, which had been studiously stored in a separate berth from the master.

At least he wasn't making any presumptions about sleeping arrangements.

She didn't know what to think about that. So, she didn't think about it at all.

Quickly changing into her two-piece, she covered herself with a cute flouncy top she'd bought on sale at the end of summer last year. At the last minute, she threw on a pair of shorts.

Seemed like a good idea if she were going to be shimmying all over the deck, wasn't it?

Pleased to find she actually had packed her sunglasses, she propped them on her head, remembering to slather on a bit of sunscreen.

* * *

They stood side-by-side, watching the full sail as the wind caught it, pulling them out towards sea. Andy looked behind her. The shore was no longer visible. It was just the two of them out on the rolling water, the waves gently rising and falling underneath the boat.

This was her favorite part. Just one lone boat in the middle of the powerful ocean. It made her feel so alive, yet so insignificant at the same time.

And, it sure as hell was a lot warmer just out of Boston Harbor that it was at home.

Andy had to resist the urge to throw her arms in the air and feel the sun and the waves and the wind with every fiber of her being.

It was perfect.

* * *

Carl watched her as she stood next to him. He'd never seen her so . . . so alive. Always a little reserved, a little closed up, being out on the ocean suited her like nothing he'd ever seen. Not wearing any make-up whatsoever, the freckles he'd never noticed sprinkled across her nose, along with her hair twisted up into some difficult-looking ponytail, made her look ten years younger with not a care in the world. Not to mention that bathing suit that covered everything it should have, but left nothing to the imagination.

It should have been a red flag, but it wasn't.

It just made him want her even more.

_What in the hell does that say about my psyche?_

"I'm glad I invited you."

Andy looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Don't invite very many women to spend the weekend on your boat?" Her tone was light, teasing.

And, he wanted to kiss those lips, to see if she tasted as good as she smelt.

"You said it's what you missed the most. About home." He motioned out towards the rolling waters. "It's not the Arctic, but it's as good as it gets."

Her smile was genuine, and he could see she was touched.

Funny. All the sudden, she was an open book to him.

Probably, she forgot to keep her protective walls up about her.

Sort of like he was doing. Or not doing.

"You remembered." Her voice was soft.

And, it was all he could do to not reach out and touch her, to see if her skin was as smooth as he remembered it to be from their too-brief encounter. "It's the least I could do. Probably should have skipped the flowers and the candy altogether."

She threw back her head and laughed, exposing the smooth, white skin on her throat. "It would have saved you some money. Because this is much, much better."

She didn't seem to notice his discomfort, and frankly, it had been awhile since he'd had to deal with raging hormones such as this.

Must be the salt air. That's it. The air.

* * *

He made sure he parked himself with her right in his line of vision. Settling on a deck chair with a magazine, she proceeded to thumb through it, seemingly oblivious to how sexy she really was. Those long legs. Curvaceous body that would put any stick-sized model to shame. Breasts that were just enough to . . .

Dammit! Dammit all to hell!

Carl removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, wishing like hell he wasn't acting like a randy school boy. He hadn't asked her on this thing in the middle of the water to seduce her.

But, hell, he _wasn't_ seducing her! She was over there, browsing through a magazine, driving him mad each time she licked her lips, and he was sitting over her trying to untangle the mess his fishing rods had gotten into while just being stored, so he could have some sort of distraction . . .

A shadow. "Need help?"

Startled, he glanced up at her. Gratefully, she had put on that flimsy wrap again, but her bare legs still taunted him. As well as the fact that she was standing within arms' reach. Dumbly, he looked at the tangled fishing line in his lap. "Uh . . . lost cause."

She flopped down in the chair next to him. "Isn't it amazing how that stuff can get tangled in storage? That used to be my job before the season started. Untangling fishing wire and nets. My brothers and my father had no patience for it, so it was up to my mom and me to tough it out."

Carl took a deep breath. Neutral territory. Reminded him to keep his hands – and his thoughts – to himself. "Patience is supposed to be a female trait, anyway, isn't it?" He placed the tangled mess aside for later. "And, plus, I know you have it in spades due to the fact that you can sit in a hostage situation for hours."

The sad look on her face startled him. She looked out towards the ocean, deep in thought, her brow furrowed.

Maybe this wasn't such neutral territory.

He touched her arm. "I didn't mean to . . ."

Just like that, her sadness was gone. "Oh, I'm fine. Sometimes, I get to wondering about the paths our lives take. What little, insignificant events and large, important events that get us to this point in life." Mentally, she shook herself. "Too deep for such a beautiful day." She stood, offering him her hand. "So, what's for lunch? I take it you're not catching us anything."

* * *

Eventually, he did manage to get a line in the water, with help from her nimble fingers in untangling the one rod from the others.

He never caught anything, but he really didn't care.

Andy, propped up next to him on a few deck pillows, was all the entertainment he needed. She didn't feel the need to fill the silence with empty chatter, making them both uncomfortable in the process. And, she didn't flaunt what he thought was the perfect example of how a woman should look.

She was what she was. She was comfortable with herself and with him.

Now, if he could just stop wondering what the rest of her looked like, he would be comfortable with himself!

That was not what he was expecting out of this excursion. What he really wanted to see was the way her eyes lit up, the way she seemed so at home on this boat – any boat. Her reserved façade fell away the moment her feet touched the deck.

It was a transformation he congratulated himself for bring out in her.

Anything else would be too presumptuous of him. She was almost half his age, and who knows? He could have misjudged the longing in her eyes that night on the balcony.

So, he kept his hands to himself.

* * *

"Too bad you didn't catch anything," Andy said.

Carl motioned with his fork at the dinner spread out in front of them. "I'm a little glad I didn't. You cook much better than I ever could."

Andy speared the last mushroom on her plate and stuck it in her mouth, savoring the flavor for a moment. "It's the least I could do." She'd had enough stocked in the small galley to whip up a passable meal consisting of kabobs cooked on the kitchen grill with twice baked potatoes.

"That's probably the only meal that's ever been cooked in that galley."

"I take it you're not the cook in the family, then."

He chuckled. "Shirley always told me if it weren't for take-out, I'd starve."

The mention of Shirley's name didn't even phase Andy. In his own way, he still loved the woman, and Andy certainly couldn't begrudge him that.

Besides, she'd spent most of the day convincing herself she had no claim to this man sitting next to her, anyway.

But, that didn't mean she wasn't curious about his past relationship.

"You know, I don't see Shirley being at home in a kitchen, either."

"Hence the take-out."

"What did the two of you do when you were out on your yacht?"

He took a sip of his drink. "She only went out with me once. Spent the whole time puking over the side of the boat."

Andy almost choked, she laughed so hard.

He watched her, clearly amused. "Don't make me tell on you, Andy."

Andy wiped the tears from her eyes. "Please, don't! It's just . . . she's so refined, so in control. The idea of her . . . hanging over the side of the boat . . ." Giggling again, she tried to control her laughter.

"It was pretty funny. Of course, I didn't tell her that. She'd have fed me to the sharks."

Andy sighed happily. "Oh, I needed that. It seems like a long time since I've laughed. Or enjoyed myself so much." A pause. "And just look at that sky! Fantastic! There's way to many buildings in Boston to enjoy this sunset."

He followed her line of vision. The sun was just starting to set in the west. The white, fluffy clouds that had been floating over them all day erupted in all shades of pink and orange as they watched, slowly fading to purple as the sun continued its descent.

* * *

That wasn't the only beautiful sight Carl watched.

There was no telling how many gorgeous sunsets and sunrises Andy had seen, but she seemed just as in awe of this one as if it had been her first. He could see it in her profile, the way the remnants of the sun reflected in her eyes.

He really needed to get her away from the office more often. Specifically, away from Boston.

There was a comfortable distance between them as they sat on deck, the remains of their meal in front of them. He should help her clean up. Furthermore, he should move away as fast as he could.

But, this boat wasn't big enough for him to get far enough from her.

Absently, he reached over and brushed a strand of hair that had blown across her cheek from her face, lingering longer than necessary.

He expected her to pull away from him. The only time she allowed him to touch her was when her guard was down. He'd taken advantage of her emotional state and found he wanted even more.

But, she didn't move.

"You're missing the sunset," she said softly, her eyes no longer noticing it herself.

"That's fine. My view is just as grand right here."

The last bit of sunlight sparkled off her necklace. Leaning over, he picked up the tiny gold cross in the crook of his finger, not failing to notice her shiver as his finger brushed against her skin.

* * *

Andy thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest it was beating so hard and so fast.

"The last time I saw this was during your trial." His voice was deep with underlying emotions that Andy didn't even want to contemplate.

Probably exactly what she was feeling right now!

It didn't fail to register with her that he noticed such small details. Like her jewelry.

"I . . . uh . . . only wear it when I feel like I need the extra assistance. During the trial, I needed all the help I could get."

He released the small cross and moved away from her.

Andy should have been relieved.

But, she wasn't.

Although, at least she could catch her breath.

"So, what is it you need the extra help from above with here?"

Andy could still feel his touch on her skin. She absently played with her necklace, a nervous gesture, she knew. His eyes were on her, she could tell, searching, waiting for an answer she didn't know if she could give. It gave her concerns a life of their own she didn't know if she wanted to face. Not here, out on the rolling ocean, the last vestiges of the sunset fading to black. It was too serene. Too calm.

Or maybe it wasn't.

That was just it. She was not accustomed to such a war of emotions.

Her eyes met his. It was almost dark, but with the soft lights from the boat itself, she could still see him, his expression as unreadable as ever as the ever-present breeze ruffled his hair.

She found her voice. "What do you think?"

When he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers, it was all she could do to keep her rapidly-beating heart in check.

There was no hesitancy in the embrace. Nothing to show either of them that maybe this was not what should be between them. Only pure, blatant want as tongues tasted and probed, hands roamed at free will.

He left her mouth and traveled slowly down to the base of her throat where her pulse raced under his touch. Andy gasped, her fingers automatically grapping whole handfuls of his shirt, his stubble rough on her skin.

"I've wanted to do that all week," he murmured.

Andy couldn't manage any comment at all. Any attempt at words seemed out of her reach at this moment. The only thing that mattered was this man who somehow managed to help her throw all sensibilities to the wind as his mouth found hers once again.

* * *

Carl was a creature of habit. With anyone else – and certainly with Shirley – he would have hauled her down to the bed and had his way with her there.

But, Andy was different. She was a creature of the sea, and it just felt so . . . so _right_ to make love to her as the breeze swirled around them, the taste of salt on her skin.

Plus, he'd paid enough for all these damn cushions. Might as well use them.

To be so cool and collected in any other situation, she proved to be an ardent lover, her protective walls all but beaten down. Her cries of pleasure were all but lost in the wind blowing off the water, sending him over the edge as they climaxed together.

* * *

Andy could feel the sweat drying on her bare skin and shifted a bit to get closer to him. The breeze off the water had turned cool now that the sun was down. He held her against him, his chest against her back and kissed the base of her neck.

Her mind was strangely silent. No niggling doubts. No conscience berating her for following her libido and not her sensibilities.

All that mattered was this man next to her who had caressed all her concerns away with just a touch. And the fact that they had the rest of the night out on this glorious ocean, no one to bother them, to judge them, to say what they were doing was wrong.

She'd worry about that later.


	13. Chapter 13

Andy tapped her pen on her desk in annoyance as she stared at the computer screen.

Just like when she was with the police force, filling anything with the government was a great big pain in the ass. Filing cases with the circuit clerk's office proved no different.

And her computer seemed to be acting up, freezing at the most inopportune moments.

Probably because it was Monday. Even computers hated Mondays.

"You look different."

Andy didn't even look up at Denny lounging in his office, reclined so far back in his chair, she was always surprised he didn't fall over. "Probably because I'm preparing to chunk my computer off your balcony."

"Ah, I love a woman with some life in her. But, that's not it. You get mad at that thing on a regular basis. I can't quite put my finger on it. New hair style? New dress?"

This time, Andy did look up. "No wonder you never stayed married for any length of time. You can't even remember what I look like on from a day-to-day basis!"

He pointed the business end of some sort of weapon at her as he spoke. Andy knew it was fake. "I study you more than any woman in this building. For two hours every day. Something is definitely different. . ." He leaned on his hand holding the gun, not even seeming to notice it was there.

"New shoes. That's it." Alan sauntered past Andy into Denny's office unannounced.

"No, she wears those at least once a week. I already thought of that."

Now, Alan was standing at Denny's desk staring at her, too.

"I'm not some sort of exhibit in the zoo, guys," Andy slammed the laptop closed, determined to let the tech guys fix it or toss it into traffic.

"She's almost . . . glowing," Alan said, deep in thought.

"I am _not_ glowing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find somewhere in this damn building where my internet access will be accepted." Gathering up her computer and her files, she stalked out. Before their little guessing game got too close to home.

Settling in the break room – she usually had decent luck getting a signal there – she resumed filing cases for Lorraine, trying her best to pay attention to the dull, tedious job in front of her.

But, her mind kept drifting.

That's all she needed. For Denny and Alan to get wind of her previous weekend's 'activities.' Not that she wanted to hide it from anyone. It just didn't seem like . . . well, like something that needed to be broadcast from the rooftops.

After finally migrating to the king-sized bed that took up most of the master suite, she and Carl had made love again, this time slowly, taking time to see what pleased the other.

Sleep was practically non-existent throughout the night.

Reluctantly, they'd headed back to shore on Sunday. Andy hadn't talked to him, since he had kissed her good-bye in the parking lot, earning a wolf-whistle from a man onboard his own boat just feet away. She had floated home and managed to get a few chores done around her place as she was held onto what could only be described as the 'afterglow' as long as she could.

But, Monday arrived. Life goes on.

She and Carl didn't discuss just where they were headed or even if they would tell anyone. Andy wasn't even sure if this was more than a weekend fling or . . . or something else. Did she want it to be something else? Would it even be feasible? Generally a very private person, she would vote for not telling anyone.

However, she'd never worked for a bunch of attorneys. They could be the most perceptive of people she'd ever seen. Even Denny.

If anything, Shirley would probably make her life a living hell.

She hadn't seen Carl all morning, but that was not unusual. She had a job to do, and so did he. What was he supposed to do? Moon around her desk all day?

"Hi, Andy! You're looking mighty tan today. Get some sun this weekend?" Katie breezed into the kitchen, heading to the coffee pot.

"Beautiful weather, wasn't it?" Andy responded.

"I hate the summer in Boston. It's smells like fish and old feet out there," Whitney grumbled.

"Oh, and I'm sure New York was soooo much better," Katie said, offering Whitney a cup.

"Give me a controlled climate anyday." Whitney greedily took the offered mug. "Where's the sugar?"

Andy handed her the sugar. "So, what did you do this weekend, Katie?"

The pretty blonde shrugged. "You know. This and that. So, anymore presents from your secret admirer?"

"I think it's someone with the police department. Someone you used to work with. _Oooo_! Wouldn't that be interesting? Maybe he had a crush on you all along!" Whitney could weave a tale better than any of them. "Any ideas?"

"Yes, do tell. Who have you been romancing, Ms. Sutherland?" Carl, catching the end of their conversation, was standing arms crossed just in the doorway to the break room, eyeing her with something akin to amusement.

Andy wanted to throw her computer at him. Not because of his comment, but because of what just the sight of him did to her insides.

_Oh, this is bad. Real bad._

Nonchalantly – she hoped – Andy reached for the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup. "I rarely have time for romancing, _Mr_. Sack. Takes up too much time that could be spent in _other_ activities." Just like the other 'activities' they had engaged in just this weekend.

"You like to go straight to the punch line, huh?"

Innocently, Andy took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. "I've never had any complaints before."

"I imagine not." Remembering the audience they had, he got down to business. "Weekly meeting today. You're up."

Andy made a face. "But, I just _took_ notes not a month ago! It's got to be someone _else's_ turn." She knew she was whining, but she hated those meetings with a passion.

"Stephanie's next up, but she's out sick. So, you're it. Not that I owe you an explanation or anything." His tone dared her to argue with him.

So, of course, she did.

"I think you just want me to be as miserable as you are in those things."

"Perhaps. Plus, you can make sure Denny isn't packing any sort of weapon before he gets there."

Andy put her face in her hands in exasperation. "I don't think you realize how many ways that man can suggest a strip search. And, I'm not breaking up any fights, either. Not like last time," she added, finally resigning herself to her fate.

"Meeting starts in 15." Carl gave her a look that made her shiver. "I'll see you there." He breezed out the door.

"Fine, go find someone else to torture!" Andy called after him. "Shit," she said to no one in particular.

"OK, I think something's going on here," Whitney said, pointing at her, then the door.

Andy had almost forgotten she and Katie were there. Carl seemed to have that affect on her. Made her forget what she was doing or what was even going on.

_Damn him!_

"Yeah. It's Monday and apparently 'dump on Andy' day." She started gathering her stuff, running from yet another barrage of questions.

Why did attorneys have to be so damn perceptive?

But, Whitney was tenacious. "Girl, he was lookin' at you like a carnivore looks at a piece of meat!"

"A _hungry_ carnivore," Katie added, almost apologetically.

Andy kept her cool on the outside and shrugged. "You know Carl. He acts like he owns the place. And everyone in it." She gathered her computer one more time. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go dance around a strip search with Denny."

Whitney looked at Katie after Andy exited. "You can't tell me you didn't see it?"

"Obviously. What's the saying? You could feel the electricity?" Katie demurely sipped her coffee.

"Well, that's not all they're 'feelin,' apparently."

* * *

Andy managed to remove a paintball gun and an air gun from Denny's person without too much groping or crude comments.

Thankfully, there was no more talk about how 'different' she was.

As she hunted for a notepad to take those awful notes that were somehow deemed necessary, she made a mental note to make sure Stephanie knew she owed her one.

And, hell, what about Carl? Sure, there was something quite stimulating about dancing around the subject of their weekend together while everyone else remained ignorant. Almost as if keeping it a secret was part of the thrill.

However, they wouldn't be for long. Someone was bound to pick up on it.

And then . . . what?

Andy snuck into the large conference room right before the meeting started, glad to see Denny had at least made it there by himself.

Andy was told by the other assistants to never sit at the table where the meeting was going on. Not because the attorneys did not want them there. They were, after all, all equals.

It just kept them out of the line of fire. Literally.

Carl, gracing the head of the table, looked up at her and gave her a studious nod.

Good. Andy didn't know if she could take any more of their innuendoes without taking him to the cable closet and jumping him.

Denny was already aggravating Shirley, and not for the first time, Andy wondered about their short-lived marriage back in their younger days.

She also wondered about the Poole in Crane, Poole and Schmidt. Never seen him before. It looked like the only one missing was Alan.

As she settled into a chair just inside the doorway, adjusting her skirt and getting ready to remember all she knew about shorthand, Alan breezed through the door, adjusting the collar of his coat.

"Sorry, I'm late."

"Ahh. You took the elevator, didn't you?" Denny said, his tone wistful.

Alan and Lorraine's elevator sex antics were legendary about the office, and Andy had to muffle a snicker.

"I heard that," Alan said towards her as he settled at the table. "So, what sort of torture do we have on stock today?"

Carl gave Alan a dirty look, and the meeting began.

There was enough bickering back and forth for Andy to catch up on the legitimate notes from the meeting, which were honestly few and far between. It went the same every time. Alan makes a snide comment. Carl tells him to behave. Denny says something crass about whatever Shirley was wearing. Carl telling him to behave. Denny saying something crass about whatever Carl was wearing.

Andy didn't envy him his job, that was for sure.

* * *

Denny let his mind wander, an easy task. As they usually did, they settled on whatever woman was in his line of sight.

Andy.

He propped his right ankle on his left knee and leaned back in the chair to watch.

Studiously, she scribbled in her notepad, only showing a hint of delicious thigh from her knee-high skirt where her legs were crossed. When she licked her lips, Denny once again wished he were 30 years younger. Or she was 30 years older.

_I wonder if anyone ever reads these notes._

She had been in the sun all weekend, her darker skin tone attesting to that. Gardening? Sunbathing?

He'd dropped her off at her apartment once when she first started working, so he knew where she lived. No sunbathing there.

At a friends' house? Maybe on a boat?

Boat. He needed a boat. Sail the high seas. Women loved boats.

_Carl has a boat. I ought to get . . ._

Hold on just . . . a . . . _minute_!

He set his chair on the floor on all four legs with a loud thump.

"You had sex!"

* * *

The meeting came to a screeching halt.

Incredulous, Andy realized he was talking to _her_!

Denny practically beamed. "That's why you look different! The glow of a satisfied woman is hard to miss."

"_You_ almost missed it," Alan retorted, his own gears grinding.

Denny waved his hand in dismissal.

Carl cleared his throat. "Denny, I do not think the sex life of anyone in this room is any of your business."

Andy didn't dare look at anyone, least of all Carl. But, her abilities to keep her embarrassment at bay were slowly failing her as she felt the heat creep up her throat.

Denny punched Carl in the arm. "I didn't know you had it in you, ol' boy! Congratulations!"

"He didn't have it in him, he had it in her." Alan caught on fast.

Shirley just stared at them all as if they were nuts.

Andy didn't think denying it would help, probably only feed the flames even more. So, she kept her trap shut.

"I want details!" Denny clapped his hands like a little boy.

Carl had had enough. "Denny Crane, so help me God, if you don't shut up right this minute, I will personally throw you off the roof of this building." His eyes were steely.

Andy figured he meant it.

Shirley spoke up first. "I think you better shut up, Denny. Details would be a little much, don't you think?"

"Speak for yourself," Alan said dryly.

"Don't you people know anything about privacy?" Andy finally managed to say.

"She doesn't deny it!" Denny leaned towards Alan. "I bet she gets that flushed right before she . . ."

"OK, folks, lets get back to the real world," Carl interrupted, trying his best to resume the meeting.

* * *

Andy couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Right as the last insult was hurled signaling the end of the meeting, Andy bolted for the door.

And ran right into Whitney.

"You and Carl are sleeping together, aren't you?" she looked at her shrewdly.

"Jesus, Whitney! Do any of you people know anything about tact? Or minding your own damn business?"

"Hey, girlfriend, I'm _paid_ to be nosy."

* * *

tonygirl here. God, I love Denny! So fun!


	14. Chapter 14

If the Guinness's Book of World Records measured the speed of gossip, Crane, Poole and Schmidt would win hands down. She had never seen anything like it.

By the end of the day, it was hard to find someone who _didn't_ know she had slept with Carl Sack.

Although angry at first, she had to take a moment to reflect the longer it went on.

What did she have to be angry about? Sure, it was Carl and hers business, but as anyone knows who's worked in close proximity with the same people day in and day out, privacy is practically nil. She had done nothing wrong. They were two consenting adults.

Hell, the only thing they could do was fire her. And, since Carl did most of that, she didn't see the unemployment line in her near future.

The only one who went out of their way to _not_ treat her any differently during the rest of the entire day was Shirley. Cordial, polite – albiet a little cool - Shirley.

Andy didn't know what she was expecting, but that was most certainly not it.

After all, she and Carl just slept together. No biggie. For all she knew, it was a one-time deal.

Although she hoped not. That man could do things . . .

"Long day, huh?"

Andy jumped, almost scattering papers all across the floor. "Well, it wasn't boring, that's for sure."

Carl chuckled. "Sorry about . . . what happened earlier."

Andy shrugged. "I was just thinking there was nothing for either one of us to apologize for."

"Oh, it looked like you were thinking about more than that," he teased as he leaned on the door frame.

"I was also thinking that I'm glad I didn't try sleeping with my captain while on the force. Never live that one down, to be sure! I . . . uh . . . just hope it doesn't . . . bother you that it's all . . . out now."

He sighed and closed the distance between them. "Why should it bother me? You're a beautiful woman, and I'm actually quite pleased with myself, truth be told."

"Yeah, it's not often an old coot like you lands a piece of tail like this."

He rolled his eyes as he put both of his hands on her cheeks. "Don't be a smart ass, Andy. It doesn't become you."

She suppressed a shiver at the look in his eyes, surprised when her heart actually started to race when he softly kissed her.

_Uh oh. This could get messy_.

But, at that point, she really didn't care.

* * *

Andy stared at the computer screen in disbelief.

She couldn't even get past the subject line.

The _Got you a job!_ mocked her, and she couldn't make herself click on it.

It was from Lance. Lance Cooper. One of her few friends while on the force from her early days. They'd kept in touch – hell, she could've married him if she'd wanted way back in the day! - and he was now the chief of police in a little suburb of Boise. Quiet little place. Town rolled up the streets at night. Everyone turned out for the Little League games each weekend. Quaint. Picturesque.

Andy had no doubt he created a position for her. Who needs to talk people away from certain death in a place like that, anyway?

But, it was a police force job. It's what she wanted. Working at the law firm was only a pit stop in her career, something she'd actually considered a setback. Professionally, it was.

Personally was a whole 'nother matter.

Whatever the position, Andy had to decide if she wanted it or not.

Andy took a deep breath and double clicked on the message.

* * *

Shirley stared at her for a moment. Andy could tell she was taking time to formulate a response.

"I have to say, this comes as quite a surprise, Andy."

"I've been looking for a position, and this one just landed in my lap a few days ago. I . . . had to take it."

Shirley stood, and Andy followed suit. "Well, you've been quite an asset to the firm, and we hate to see you go."

"It's been a pleasure to work here, and not all as bad as I thought it would be."

"So, all the horror stories at the department weren't all true, then?" Shirley managed to joke.

Andy thought of Denny and his antics. "Not all of them." She turned to go, but Shirley's next words stopped her in her tracks.

"He doesn't know yet, does he?"

Somehow, Andy knew she wasn't talking about Denny.

Softly, she answered, her hand still on the door knob. "No. He doesn't." And, damn, it was going to be harder to tell him than she ever would have thought!

She heard Shirley's sigh. "Just don't wait too long. You know how gossip runs amok around here."

Andy nodded once in response.

"Oh, and you're telling Denny. I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole!"

* * *

They sat quietly. Although Andy could still see the other employees of the firm bustling about just outside, there was no noise inside his office.

Not for the first time, she wondered whose bright idea it was to put up glass walls.

_The better to see you with, my dear._

Oh, yeah. She was definitely losing it.

"So, I know you didn't come all the way down here to stare out at your coworkers," Carl teased gently as he leaned back in his chair.

Andy shook herself. "What? Oh. Just . . . thinking."

"Why did you bless me with your presence in the middle of a workday?"

Although they had been seeing each other for a couple of months, they kept it strictly business at the firm. As a result, the gossip died down before it could even get started.

Ever the professional, Carl understood. Although, when she refused even lunch with him, he did get a little miffed.

But, that didn't mean she more than made up for it that evening in his bed, either.

Plus, Andy thought he was too cute when he was miffed.

"Earth to Andy?" He chuckled at her expression as she sat primly on the other side of his desk. "I did hope this would be an obscene visit."

Andy made a face. "In this fish bowl? Most certainly not."

"Touché. Now, what's on your mind?"

Andy looked at her hands for a moment. This was harder than she thought it would be. No strings attached. Mind-blowing sex. Companionship in a city that lacked the ability to fulfill even the basic needs. That's what it was supposed to be. An unspoken agreement.

She was more than surprised to realize it just might mean a little more to her than that.

She looked him square in the eye. "Carl, I've found another job. With the Stockton Police Department. In Idaho."

* * *

Carl was surprised at how those few little words practically knocked the breath out of him.

He put both feet on the floor with a resounding 'thunk' that echoed in his deathly quiet office.

She was waiting for an answer. A reply, her eyes pleading with him for . . .what?

What did she want him to say?

"I . . . see." His mind struggled to formulate words his heart didn't want to say.

"I've never made it any secret that this was a temporary stop, you know." Her words were soft, not accusing him of anything at all. Love, hate, nothing.

And, she was giving him an out.

"That's . . . congratulations," he said weakly. "When do you start?"

"I . . . put in my two week notice today."

Two weeks. Two damn weeks.

"Well . . . have you told Denny?"

A small smile. "Not yet."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I can't . . . convince you to stay."

"For you or for Denny?"

Damn, that's what he loved about her. Got right to the point.

And, yes, he said love. Although he'd never said it to her. But, he'd come to rely on her more than he ever would have thought possible. What had started as some sort of rebound from Shirley had turned into something else entirely.

It was enough to make him want to weep. Or break something. Whichever came first.

But, what he'd probably do was nothing. Just as he had always done.

When he finally decided how to answer her, he realized she was gone.

And more than likely, he was too late, anyway.

* * *

He managed to stay away from her the first week. Which was a good thing. She had boxes to pack and moving plans to make. He would only be in the way.

As well as dealing with Denny's outbursts of emotion every time he turned around. Damn, that man was going to pieces, and she was just his secretary! Carl wouldn't have been surprised if he rent his clothes and gnashed his teeth as in the Old Testament.

It was more emotion than Carl could manage, that was for sure. Would put him in too much of a vulnerable position. And, if it was one thing Carl Sack didn't like, it was being vulnerable.

Although they spent enough time together before her little announcement to make him feel as if they were truly a couple, not just two people who enjoyed each other physically, but emotionally, going cold turkey affected him more than he thought. He still had to see her day after day, thinking to himself, 'only seven more days. . . . only six more days . . .'

Soon, there would be no more days.


	15. Chapter 15

He didn't come to her going-away party.

Not that it didn't surprise her. He'd avoided her for two whole weeks, which was hard to do, considering the circumstances.

Not that she didn't expect it. But, it still hurt, just the same.

And, she hated that it hurt. She'd managed to fall for him, and he just coolly went on about his day as if nothing had happened.

She should have been angry. But, she wasn't. It was her fault entirely.

As she packed box after box, and the stack got higher and higher, she wondered if perhaps, she should have waited for his answer. Maybe he did want her to stay. For him.

Would she do it?

I guess they'd never know.

But, this unfinished business was bothering her. They had to end this properly. On a cordial note. On friendly terms.

Not with indifference. Because what they had had to mean more to him than that.

The soft knock on her door didn't surprise her one bit.

If it was one thing Carl Sack didn't like, it was unfinished business. That much she knew about him.

Brushing off her dusty jeans, she weaved her way through all the boxes to the door.

To say he looked ready to bolt was an understatement. "I've seen foxes on opening hunt day look better than you."

He managed a smile. "Gee. Thanks."

She stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. "It's messy, but moving is a messy business."

"What time does the moving van get here?"

"7 a.m. Sharp." She shut the door behind her with a click, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, what's on your mind, Sack?"

"It looks so . . . so final," he said absently, motioning around the apartment he had become so familiar with over the last few months.

"It sort of is."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Andy remembered the box in her bedroom. "Oh, just a minute. I have something for you."

He followed her into the bedroom, which was in just as much disorder. Even her bed was in pieces, the bare mattress covered in packing supplies.

She handed him a box. "This is your stuff. Thought you might want it."

He took it from her. "Oh. Right. I guess . . . I guess you'll have some things at home, too."

"Nothing I can't live without."

More silence.

This time, it was his turn to break it. "Can I ask you something?"

Her eyes became guarded, but her tone didn't change. "Sure."

"If I had answered your question in my office two weeks ago, would you have stayed?"

Andy rubbed both of her hands up and down her arms against an imaginary chill. "I've wondered that myself."

"Would it help if I answer it now?"

She cocked her head. "Oh, so now that you had two weeks to think about it and haven't spoken three words to me, then _now_ I'll stay, huh?" she was smiling as she said it, but her eyes held a sadness there he knew he wasn't meant to see.

"I'm not . . . good at these sort of things." He sat the box aside.

"I'll agree with your ex-wife, there." She reached out and brushed a bit of dust from his jacket. "Just think. You ruined your chance to have two full weeks of amazing sex out of sheer pride and stupidity."

"Gee. Your candid attitude makes me feel so much better." He took her hand and kissed it.

_Don't go. Not like this._

But, he didn't say it. "Where are you sleeping tonight?" he motioned towards the broken-down bed.

She shrugged. "I have a few things to finish up, then I was going to crash on the couch."

"I have a better idea."

* * *

It was still dark when Andy woke. Her first instinct was to snuggle further into his warmth. It's what she would have done any other day the last few months.

But, today was different.

As quietly as she could, she rose, gathering her scattered clothing. They hadn't wasted any time where they returned to his house, and she finally found her other sock in the vicinity of the kitchen, looking at it stupidly for a moment, wondering just how it got there.

She'd shower at her place, maybe get the cabbie to stop for some coffee. Her coffee maker was buried in the bottom of a box somewhere, and today called for caffeine. Lots and lots of it.

As she waited for the cab to arrive, she debated on waking him. Officially tell him good-bye and all that.

But, deep inside, she knew that's what last night had been all about. Good-byes.

And although she'd tried to tell herself otherwise, she'd fallen in love with Carl Sack.

With one last look at him sleeping blissfully away, she snuck out the door and down the steps to the waiting cab, the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon.

* * *

Carl should have been surprised when he woke to find she was gone. Even her side of the bed was cold.

_Her side of the bed . . ._

_Funny. When did it become her side of the bed?_

The sun was just now shining weakly into the room.

It was going to be another Boston spring day. The kind that makes you wish for a fireplace and hot chocolate rather than picnics and outdoor games.

That was fine. The weather fit his mood perfectly.

Normally able to voice any opinion, many not even his own but those of his clients, he couldn't even muster enough words together to get her to stay.

But, it wouldn't be fair. To her or to him. He knew that much. Sure, their relationship was relaxed, laid back, not forward-thinking. He didn't know if he even _wanted_ anything more permanent. And that was fine. Because she didn't either.

He thought.

Setting both feet on the floor, he put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

_I'm too old for this shit_.

One thing he wasn't too old for. Mourning. Because, he'd lost her, although he had convinced himself that was the way it needed to be.

Didn't mean his heart liked him for it.

* * *

"Do you think we're crazy?"

"On what grounds?" Denny asked, watching the smoke from his cigar – and the fog from his breath – drift towards the heavens

"Sitting out here. In below freezing weather. In the snow! Freezing our whats-its off."

"Mine aren't freezing. I'm wearing thermal underwear."

Alan rolled his eyes and took a rather large gulp of scotch for artificial warmth. "You and your thermal underwear," he muttered.

"Since I rarely wear underwear in general, it takes so getting used to." Denny moved back and forth uncomfortably. "And 'whats'its,' Alan? Really? I expect more eloquence out of you, you know."

"All eloquence leaves when my body core temperature goes below 70."

"You'd be dead if it were below 70."

"It'd be more comfortable, then," Alan grumped.

"Oh, shut up, you big baby. Suck it up."

Alan paused. "Speaking of sucking it up, you seemed to take your first day without your eye candy rather well."

"Meh." Alan dismissed Andy with a wave of his hand. "There's always more eye candy where that came from. It's Carl I'm worried about."

Alan glanced at his friend. "Carl? He's avoided her like the plague since she put in her two-week notice. Didn't even go to her farewell party."

"The big chicken. Even Shirley came to the party."

"Probably to make sure she was really going."

"You didn't see him today? Looked like hell. Looked like . . ."

"He'd been rode hard and put up wet?" Alan offered.

"Good boy. I like horse analogies."

Alan looked rather pleased with himself. "Thanks."

"I imagine he was busy last night." He lowered his voice a notch. "She was there, you know."

"How do you know?" Alan asked.

Denny rolled his shoulders. "I just know. Hell, if I was dating her and couldn't keep my hands off her this whole time, I would want some farewell sex."

"Farewell sex? Is that right up there with pity sex?"

"Oh no! Farewell sex is much, _much_ better!"

"Had a lot of farewell sex there, Denny?"

Denny got a faraway look in his eye, which usually meant fond memories of sexual conquests were surfacing. "More than I care to admit." Stubbing out his cigar, he stood. "Now, let's go inside. I'm freezing my whats-its off!"

* * *

Andy never liked the cliché 'starting a new chapter,' but that's what she was doing.

And, it was rather . . . pleasant.

Sure, she was only the fourth police officer on the force in the relatively small town. Not the action she was accustomed to in Boston, that's for sure. But, she and Lance had hit it off admirably. She hadn't laid eyes on him in 10 years, but time had certainly been kind to him.

She wondered if he thought the same about her.

His background was similar, coming from a long line of coal miners in Kentucky. He understood why she wanted to be on the force. Why she wanted to serve, to help, just as she understood his own reasons for making it his life's career.

She and Carl were all wrong for each other. Totally. Different backgrounds. Different _generations_.

It was hard to convince herself that on quiet evenings alone when her mind would start to drift.

But, she made the right decision. In time, his memory would fade from her own. He'd just be a distant smile on her face no one would understand. They were right for each other at where they both found themselves in life. She would move on.

At least, she told herself that right up until she realized she was pregnant.


	16. Chapter 16

"Bye, Mom!"

"Did you get your homework?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I got my homework. Oh, and we're going out after football practice."

It was Andy's turn to roll her eyes, almost a mirror image of her son's expression. "Did you ask your dad?"

This was the same routine, and Brian's voice reeked with it. "Yessss. Dad knows."

"Fine. Be back by 10."

"_Mooommmm_!"

She pointed a finger at him. "It's a school night."

He made a face, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Fine. 10. See you later."

"Be careful!" she called to his retreating figure. She heard the pick-up start in the driveway and carefully make its way down the street.

Came from having two cops as parents. But, she knew he floored it when he got out of earshot.

Shaking her head at her son's antics, she resumed her coffee, checking the clock. She didn't have to be at work until 9 a.m. Perk of being married to the chief of police.

Neither one of them had retired. No need in it. If they were in a big city dealing with all the problems and chaos on a day-to-day basis, they'd have both been burned out 10 years ago.

But not in Stockton.

Andy's cell phone rang, and she absently reached for it on her belt.

It was Grace.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom."

"Thought you had classes this morning."

"Professor's sick."

"Lucky you, huh?" Andy could hear chatter in the background. "We are you?"

"On the Commons. Going to have coffee with David."

Andy smiled. "The same David that . . ."

"Yes, Mom, the same David." Grace used the same tone as her brother did earlier. "So, how's Dad?"

"The same. He misses you. We both do."

"Yeah, well, I miss you, too."

"I thought you were going off to Brown and never looking back," Andy gently teased her oldest child.

"Yeah. Well. Didn't mean I wouldn't get homesick every now and then. What about Boogerhead?"

"Boogerhead just made the football team."

"He would. Stupid jocks couldn't think their way out of a paper bag."

Andy switched her cell to her other ear. "Don't be bitter, now. Just because you're the scholar in the family doesn't allow you to be mean." She said it with a smile. It was an old argument.

"I don't mean it."

"I know, sweetheart."

Shuffling "Here's David. I'll talk to you later, Mom. Love you!"

The line went dead before Andy could say anything else.

Smiling, she returned her cell to her belt, remembering to tell Lance that she had called.

She tried to return to her paper, but the front door rang.

"Geez! It's like Grand Central around here," she muttered, stepping over their old Labrador on the way to the foyer.

She didn't even look to see who it was, just yanked open the door.

And stared into a face she never thought she'd see again.

* * *

"This might sound crass, Shirley, but you've aged rather well." Andy sat a steaming mug of coffee in front of the older woman.

"I'll take my compliments where I can get them. And, I would have to say the same about you."

Andy shrugged. Being on the force kept her in shape, even after two children and middle age. She didn't bother with dying her dark hair, either, and it was liberally peppered with grey. Lance teased her about it, but then again, he was bald, so she could tease him about that - just like the two, old married folks they were.

Andy waited until Shirley had at least tasted the coffee before she spoke. "I know you just weren't in the neighborhood. What brings you to my door after what? Almost twenty years?"

"Has it been that long?" Shirley sat her mug back on the table, fiddling with the handle, an uncharacteristic gesture. She rarely saw Shirley nervous. Even Andy remembered that.

So, she tried to make it easier on her, wondering what the deal was with the visit. Shirley wasn't one to be rushed. "I heard about Denny and Alan."

Shirley smiled, eyes crinkling at the sides. "Can you believe those two? Getting married of all things."

"I got a big kick out of the gay rights people suing them because it was a business arrangement." Andy had kept up with it through Katie, of course.

"Those two," Shirley said quite wistfully. "I can't believe they're both gone."

"They were larger than life," Andy added. "And, I always found it ironic that the madcow didn't get him in the end after all."

Shirley shook her head. "We – I – lost more than just two friends when that damn little plane went down in Canada."

"They wouldn't have went any other way, you know. Fishing was what they lived for. Even I remember that."

Awkward silence. Andy cleared her throat, never one to beat around the bush. "So. Shirley. How's Carl?"

"Carl died. About two months ago." It looked like it pained Shirley to even say it.

Andy hadn't seen him in twenty years. Although she thought about him often – especially at first – he had become what she said he would – a smile on her face no one could explain.

Despite all the time that had passed, Shirley's words still made her heart skip and beat. She reached over and clasped Shirley's hand in hers. Another uncharacteristic gesture, but hell, it was that kind of day, wasn't it? "I'm . . . so sorry."

The sheen of tears in the older woman's eyes was blinked away. "Heart attack. I found him sitting at his desk. Just . . . gone."

Andy wanted to cry herself. Twenty years, and he still had that affect on her. "I . . I don't know what to say."

Shirley composed herself, looking more like the Shirley Andy remembered. "I didn't know you realized. About Carl and me."

Andy cleared her throat. "Katie and I kept up. Still hear from her and Jerry on occasion."

Shirley nodded. "And, you're married?"

Andy wondered how Shirley knew, but hell – this was Shirley! She could find information on anything she wanted, if memory served. "Nineteen years last May."

"Any children?"

"Two." Andy rose and took a picture from the mantel. A family portrait taken before Grace traveled to the East Coast to school.

Shirley studied it. "The boy-"

"Brian."

"Looks just like his father." She handed the frame back to Andy. "Funny, Grace looks nothing like him."

Andy opened her mouth to ask just how the hell Shirley knew her daughter's name.

But, Shirley spoke first. "He knew."

* * *

Andy stared across her kitchen table at Shirley, truly speechless.

_He knew?_

Every excuse for not telling him bubbled to the surface, and she had to mentally shove her guilty feelings aside.

Anger. Why didn't he tell her he knew? That he had a daughter?

And finally, sadness.

Grace knew Lance wasn't her biological father just as Lance knew Grace wasn't his. He was the ONLY one that knew she wasn't his. Anyone that could count knew she was pregnant before she married, but – just as she and Lance thought – the townfolk still assumed the child was is. Which was what they wanted them to think. Honestly, Andy rarely thought about it. Until now. Until this pronouncement from Carl's widow.

He was dead. And he never even met her.

Shirley waited patiently.

"H-how?" Andy finally managed to ask.

Shirley shrugged. "He put two and two together. And grilled Katie."

"But . . . Katie didn't know."

Shirley smiled. "No, but she knew dates. And he saw right through the 'she got pregnant by the police chief, then married him' bit."

Andy sat back in her seat, still stunned, her brain a muddled mass of confusion. So many questions . . .

"Was he . . . angry?"

Shirley thought for a moment. "Maybe a little. At first. But, just like a man, he was waiting on you to come to him. Waiting to see what you would do. What you wanted _him_ to do."

Andy felt her eyes welling, and she brushed away her tears impatiently. "That's not just like a man. That is – was – just like Carl."

_He's dead. But, he knew._

Her brain kept going back to that.

Old arguments she had with herself reared their ugly heads. "I . . . I should've told him. . ."

Shirley waved her comment impatiently away. "No excuses necessary. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing if it were me because I probably would. You had cut those ties and moved on. You did what you had to do. I'm assuming . . . your husband."

"He knows he's not Grace's father. She does, too, actually."

Now, it was Shirley's turn to be surprised. "Really?"

"We told her when she was old enough to understand. Only because I couldn't stand lying to her. There could have come a time . . . when she might have needed to know who her father was, and I . . . I didn't want to have to break it to her then . . ." Andy trailed off, then chuckled. "There were so many times – mainly when she argued circles around me – that I wanted to yell at her that she was just like her father. The father she _didn't_ know."

Shirley had to chuckle at that, too. "He could argue, that's for sure." She paused. "Did she ever . . . show any interest in meeting him?"

"Not . . . . really. I offered to contact him, but, she was always a realistic child. Lance is her daddy. He was the one who made her feel safe and tucked her in at night and taught her to play softball and cheered her on at every one of her games and went with her to college. She told me . . . she didn't see any need in it."

Shirley nodded once in understanding.

Andy wiped her eyes. "It's a good thing, too, because the idea of telling Carl scared the hell out of me."

Shirley laughed, and Andy had to chuckle along with her. "You know, she's wants to be a lawyer."

"Did she know Carl was?"

Andy shook her head. "She's going to school now at . . ."

"Brown. I know."

Andy cocked her head, suspicious. "How?"

Shirley chose her words carefully. "Carl . . .kept up with her. Mainly through Katie. But, he also insisted on subscribing to this paper," Shirley motioned towards the forgotten local newspaper on the table. "When . . . it came time for applications to be submitted, he knew Brown was her first choice."

"It was in the paper," Andy said, almost to herself. The article was on the star softball team winning the state championships. Grace played second base.

"He . . . put in a few words." At Andy's sharp look, she quickly added, "Not that Grace wouldn't have gotten in on her own."

Andy's mouth felt dry. "The scholarships?"

"She earned those all on her own. He had nothing to do with it. Although you would have thought . . ." Shirley stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts. "He was proud of her, Andy."

Now, that hurt. "I should've told him. He should have been a part of it."

"He was a part of it. In his own way. Which, as you know, was how he liked it. But, he watched her grow up. Birth announcements. Beauty pageants. Sports awards. Academic awards. Her life here – the life you chose for her – was the best possible one she could ever had. He didn't want to alter it in any way. Because you chose wisely. You really did."

"I still feel like a . . ."

"Don't." Shirley interrupted. "You know about the relationship he had with his other children, so you know fatherhood wasn't his favorite subject. But, from afar, he could feel proud. For you. And for Grace."

Andy reached for a tissue and blew her nose. "I . . . don't know what to say."

Shirley smiled. "There's nothing to say."

"I . . . thank you. For telling me."

Shirley reached for her purse at her feet, pulling out a manila envelope. "Actually, that's not all I came to tell you." She unclasped it and pulled out several sheets of paper. "He left his estate to his children. To _all_ of his children."

Andy felt all the blood run from her face. "_All_ . . . I mean, the others? They didn't . . .know about Grace?"

Shirley smiled sardonically. "Caused the world's biggest stink. They thought they got to split everything 50/50." She almost added 'greedy bastards' but didn't. She stacked the papers smartly on the table. "As his attorney, I got to be the one to tell them."

Andy caught on. "And you enjoyed yourself immensely, didn't you?"

That same sarcastic smile. "Immensely."


	17. Chapter 17

The headstones rose like silent testaments to lives come and gone, the snow setting a stark backdrop. They seemed to stretch for miles, and Andy had to stop a moment and take it all in.

Although it should have been a sad scene, it was rather . . . beautiful. So quiet. So peaceful.

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Grace kept silent, although she had to wriggle her toes in her boots to keep them from freezing as her mother gazed unseeing across the cemetery just outside New York.

Rather surprised when her mother announced a Christmas shopping spree just before she was to come home for winter break, Grace enjoyed spending time with her. They'd done some sightseeing, something Grace's studies had kept her from and shopped and shopped. Lord, did they shop!

Just after her last final, her mother picked her up at her dorm and started driving. Grace didn't ask where and wasn't surprised when the lights of the Big Apple sprang into view. Her mother had something on her mind this entire trip, and although Grace could sense it, she just left it alone. One thing was certain – you never rushed her mother.

Now, standing in this lonesome cemetery in the snow, the wind biting through her heavy coat, Grace wanted to rush her. Just a bit.

They started walking, Andy studying the signs dividing the cemetery into different sections. The headstones appeared newer the further they walked, obviously not weathered as the older ones were.

Grace cleared her throat. She had practically memorized the obituary, but kept her knowledge hidden from everyone else. "He's here, isn't he?"

* * *

Grace was always an astute child. Always caught on to what others were thinking and feeling. Andy was sure she picked up most of it from her.

But, her bluntness was all her father's.

Andy hadn't told Grace about her visit with Shirley yet. She and Lance agreed that it was best not to tell her over the phone.

Especially about the money. Andy didn't think it would go to her daughter's head, but she didn't want to just flippantly tell her, 'oh, by the way, your biological father died, and you've inherited millions from his estate.'

Hence, the trip.

"Mom, it's alright. I know that he . . . died."

Andy stared at her daughter, momentarily shocked.

"How?"

Grace shrugged, staring off into the distance. "I . . . Googled his name sometimes. To see . . . well, to see what I could find out. I've been doing it for years. The last time – well, the last time, I found his obit."

Of course, she'd be curious.

"Is that why you wanted to become an attorney?"

Grace kicked at a clump of snow. "In a way. Maybe. To show that . . . that I can be just as good at it as he is. Was."

They started walking down the row of headstones, studying each one. Two dark heads of hair. One greyer than the other, but obviously mother and daughter.

They stopped at two markers to the end of the row, their hair blowing in the breeze.

Sure, Andy knew he was dead. But seeing his name etched on the tombstone brought it all home.

Grace linked her arm through her mother's as they both stared at the Carl's final resting place.

Andy blinked back tears. _Don't be silly. You haven't seen him in too many years to be acting like this._

"Did you ever . . . contact him?" Andy couldn't get over the fact she didn't have to treat her daughter like a child, protect her from life and what it brings.

"I thought about it. Especially after I moved to Rhode Island. But . . ." Grace trailed off, "I didn't really see the point."

"He knew about you, Grace."

Grace stared at her mother. Always having the love of her family surrounding her, the fact that the man who gave her life never had anything to do with her rarely bothered her.

But, for a moment, it hurt. Really hurt.

Her mother's eyes softened. "I just found out myself. His wife stopped by about a month ago. Told me he was gone."

"But . . . _how_?"

"He figured it out. Kept up with you through the _Stockton Gazette_, believe it or not."

"That old thing?" Grace tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. Her mind grappled with the knowledge that he knew, but never tried to contact her.

Then again, was it really necessary?

Grace decided to study on it another day. What was done, was done.

Wearily, Andy settled on a cold, concrete bench and told her everything, starting at the beginning. Neither one paid any attention to the chilly air as her mother weaved her story, one that was long overdue to be told.

Andy didn't stop until everything was said that needed to be, leaving nothing out. Including the trust fund.

Grace absently picked at a string on her bright pink glove. "I'd always wondered . . . how it all turned out like it did. I know you were vague when I was younger, and that was the right thing to do. But, I still always wondered . . ." Her gaze settled on the grey marble in front of them. "Do you still love him?"

"Really, Grace. It's not like you to be so romantic," Andy teased.

Grace rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

Andy's smile faded, and she fiddled with a tissue in her hand. "I would have said no. Maybe I never really loved him at all. Maybe it was just . . . physical. But, when Shirley told him he was dead, it was like . . . like a blow from left field. And sitting here . . . looking at this headstone . . ." Andy bit her bottom lip to keep the tears from falling. "I honestly don't know, Grace. Maybe I loved him still, but not the man he truly was. Maybe I loved what I imagined him to be. Twenty years is a long time."

"Dad knows?"

"Oh, yes. Your Dad knew from the beginning. He . . . married me to save me from being a single mother. We had . . . known each other for a long time, and he had always cared for me. I never doubted that."

"But . . . you do love Dad. Don't you?"

Andy thought that was the first time Grace sounded vulnerable during this entire conversation and put her hand over her daughter's. "I do. Very much. But, love does strange things. More often than not, I think it's mislabeled, a term we use too often to describe a feeling, an emotion, that's not love."

Grace thought about her mother's comment. "Even if you didn't still love – uh – Carl, you missed him."

Andy couldn't lie to her daughter. "Everyday." She paused. "And one good thing came out of it?"

"What's that?"

"I have you."

They sat a little while longer, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Andy stood, brushing lose snow from her pants. "Let's go get some coffee. I'm freezing!"

"I guess it should be my treat, shouldn't it? You know, the trust fund and all," Grace teased.

"Now, don't you go getting the big head on me," Andy threatened, shaking her finger at her daughter.

Grace's laughter echoed throughout the dreary cemetery, giving life to a place where there was nothing but memories.

* * *

"Pompous bastard."

"Denny! This is heaven! Cursing is rather unnecessary. Don't you think?"

Denny waved his glass of scotch at Alan. "Well, so are cigars and booze, but we still have those, don't we?"

Alan couldn't argue with him there. "So, who's the pompous bastard?"

"You didn't just see that? Carl! The ingrate. Knocks up that plucky broad twenty years ago, then doesn't do anything about it!"

"Denny, I heard the same thing you did. And, it seems to me Andy didn't want to have anything done about it. She took care of it herself."

"Damn women's lib," Denny muttered, making himself more comfortable in the patio chairs. Chairs that eerily resembled their balcony chairs back at Crane, Poole and Schmidt. "Cute kid, though."

"Carl might throttle you within an inch of your life if you even suggest it in his presence." Alan exhaled, the plume of smoke drifting towards the clear, blue sky.

"Hadn't seen too much of Carl. Hoping he wouldn't make it up here," Denny grumped.

"You just don't want him to be here when Shirley gets here," Alan said.

They sat in silence for a moment – rare even for their spirits – enjoying the view. Whereas in Boston, the view was magnificent on a good day, the view in Heaven was always spectacular – and even resembled the Boston skyline.

"You know, Denny, this Heaven business isn't so bad after all," Alan uncrossed his legs and reached for the decanter of scotch.

"You wouldn't have even gotten in if I hadn't put in a good word for you," Denny pointed out.

"It doesn't work that way."

"Who says?"

"For starters, the Bible."

It was an old argument that neither wanted to get into. It was such a beautiful day. Although, everyday was a beautiful day.

"Don't you feel sorry for all those poor saps still down there, mucking through it all, getting it wrong most of the time, but still trudging on?" Denny asked, waving his hand dismissively towards the edge of their balcony.

Alan thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. They get to live. To feel. To . . ."

"To have sex!" Denny said, smacking his lips and clapping his hands gleefully.

"Oh, like you can't do that up here," Alan rolled his eyes.

"You can? Really?"

Alan waved Denny's comment away. "Seriously, Denny. This is Heaven. It is the be all and end all of what makes you happy. And I know what makes you happy."

"Cheerleader uniforms?"

"That, too. Friendship, Denny. It's what makes it all worthwhile."

Denny actually seemed to think before he commented. "That's quite girlie of you, Alan. I'm usually the one spouting those sentiments. Don't you go soft on me, now. You gotta keep me straight in this world of clouds and sun and all that jazz."

Alan grinned, setting his cigar between his teeth and settling back in the chair. "That's what friends are for."

Finis


End file.
